Keats's "To Autumn" is called to mind on days such as these--
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies (lns.25-29)
Indeed, the day started out much as Keats would have us envision the final "chapter" of Autumn. It was a quiet morning--a thin veil of mist rose from the hillocks and meadows surrounding our town. Wildlife and livestock alike milled about in tentative awareness of a "something" in the air. The newly-harvested fields lay fallow and clean. Yet, as sensual as this season is, it could not be that softened.
All the tumultuous passion of this season spent itself this afternoon and evening. The sun burst forth from his dimming cloud bank to reveal the jeweltoned leaves on the Crepe Myrtles and Oaks in all their splendor. Birds chirruped in the warming embrace of the life-giving rays. Then, just as suddenly, the skies darkened with the threatening gunmetal-grey clouds of an approaching storm. Breezes which has once teased the jeweled leaves from the branches now took on the guise of gusting winds--grabbing at still-verdant shrubbery. The heavens opened and the rains came down--a downburst of perhaps ten-minutes' time. As suddenly as it came upon this area, it dissipated as rapidly, leaving behind Nature's mirrors to reflect the season's effacement at its own hand.
We're in the "dark half" of the year indeed, my darling Lair visitors and friends--the season of preparation. It's a "nesting" season for many of us--baking, tidying away, decorating for the festivities of Thanksgiving and Yule which are rapidly approaching. We gather loved ones close and light the hearthfire to welcome the onset of darkness. We embrace the sensual nature of the Season yet yearn for the coming of the light of Spring.
Again, as with our Samhain preparations, sit back and truly treasure this time. Enjoy the simple pleasures--a soft throw over your legs to guard against the chill of November; the smell of the sleeping garden as you sit outside of a pleasant afternoon and enjoy a lovely book; the comforting crackle of wood in a fireplace while the bracing winds and rains of late Autumn rage without. Bake bread (always a favored pasttime at the Lair), create a comforting soup from whatever strikes your fancy, brew a strong pot of tea and share all with friends and family in celebration of the darkness which brings you together. We've time...bounteous time in which to sit and reflect and recognize all that She has bestowed upon us this past year. And yet, this time will end--the holiday season passes with a flash and a pop and then 'twill be another calendar year full of promise.
I pour you a cup of the Lair's blend of black tea--ripe with dried fruits and rinds and spices of the Holiday Season--and invite you once more to find solace and welcoming warmth here. Thank you for joining me...I count you all among our many blessings bestowed this year.
In the soft, misty light of the late Autumn Moon...
