I absolutely love this time of year...it speaks to my soul. Over the years I have been accused in jest of being a witch. This is the bewitching season.
Today the woods are ripe with dripping magic. There is a yellow green glow as the leaves continue to ooze away their summer life blood. Those that have broken free from their summer branches are adrift on the breeze or coating the deck, the stairs, the roof, the ground.
This is rutting season afterall. It is a powerful time of year. Animals are driven to mate so their pregnant mates can quietly gestate through the dark winter months.
Despite the shorter days and the creeping darkness. The chill at midnight. This is a time of life in transition. The mystery of death looms but it is not a permanent death. Even the Christian tradition is interwoven with this deep pagan sense of time.
Sex itself has been called the little death so it follows this time of the rut leads to the deep death sleep of winter...itself a time of gestation. At the peak of darkness on the winter solstice, we lift up our voices to implore the return of light. And into the darkness a baby is born. The symbol of the coming Light.
This IS a magical time. I listen to appropriate music, cast my spells and pray for the continuation of the endless timeless cycle.
Peace.
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