The Second Spring

I find that I really enjoy this time of year here in the valley. It is like a second spring before the year slips into a multi-month marathon of dismal wetness. Rose blooms that withered and paled in the August heat--recuperated through September for the last gasp of vibrance here in mid October. The first flower stalks begin to poke out around the bases of all my orchids... sensing the familiar disparity between daytime warmth and nighttime chill. They will take months to mature and bless us through to Imbolc with exotic beauty. Our first real rain is on the way and most of the summer fruit and seed is harvested from the fields. All that remains is the pomegranate harvest that will crack open for the birds at Hallows. I reach for the blanket indoors and the sweater outdoors. Still, the sunny days are more than the grey.

This last gasp of life so well timed before Samhain--it pulls me through and onwards from the swallowing inertia of a dying year. A year of deaths... of the flesh... of the heart.

Deaths are not bad in and of themselves. Worse than any death is the dream that never lived. I have lost much this year, but I have also gained. My heart is full.