I used to hate the dark wintering months, wetting and chilling us as they shorten the days and steal the summer’s light. But now I notice a sense of relief. Relief that I can rest, be still, sit with the cat warming my legs as I dive between pages of my teetering reading pile.

Wood is coppiced and chopped, the cellar roof newly insulated and the newly installed solar makes a different even on the darkening days.

The restless energy of doing is ebbing away as the leaves fall letting the low sunlight striate the wet grass.

I no longer have the SAD I used to feel, changed at least in part by now being able to go on daylight walks.  But also, it feels as if there is something of aging at play here. High summer which I used to love, the hours of light and endless energy it gave me, now wears me out. I am enjoying shutting the curtains at 7 and coming home to writing, hearth side and apple pies.

With Mabon,  the last of the pagan harvest festivals behind us, we turn towards Samhain, the festival which allows the welcoming in of the dark and thins the veil between the ancestral and spirit realms.  Not only do I feel my mum nearer in the blackbird’s call at dusk, but so too, can I feel the younger version of me and wonder who I will be next.

As the leaves drop once again, the river is revealed and I wonder what the darkening will show as I drop into reflection and musing and draw my energies deeply into my roots.

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