Dear Autumn

A log fire glows in the dark

This year, here, the Equinox has slipped by: not shy, not overlooked, more elegant, understated. This year, here, Autumn steps quietly, her satin gown spun from late summer sun, nut-bronze, gold-stitched. Her jewels are hedge-fruits, her crown is copperleaf. Where she steps the earth is rich with mulch, and tree branches bend, weighted by their crop.
She is kind and stern, for all of this should be enough.
We are in the garden, licking blackberry juice from purple fingers, picking out thorns, reaching for apples to eat, picking up windfalls to brew, glad to be here, this and every year.
In our fields we pluck sloes, and more blackberries.
Logs are stacked for longer nights. We feel the sun, smoothly warm, and the crackle of cold in the air: it is more than enough.  It is the seasonal rhythm of life.
Dear Autumn, we thank you for this abundance, we honour you by the work of harvest and stores. When winter treads in you will be with us in jars, in hot bubbles of fruit, in the rich fat of nut flours, in our replete resting: then we will honour you with sharing, with generosity of warmth and fodder.
Dear Autumn, step quietly and watch.
A gnarly old tree stump that looks like a happy troll face


Fingers crossed I can finally comment on your posts again.
And thank you for sharing the magic, the appreciation and the beauty of the seasons.
Lisa Southard said…
Yes! It seems I have finally banished the captcha! Good to have you back :-)
A lovely tribute to the season. That fire looks cozy.

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