The equinox just past, and every family is in transition, whether in cities or countryside, apartments or houses.
It’s on the winds, in the rains, under our feet and in the canopies. And it’s in our children too. They’re called indoors, to fires and candles and stories and games and comforting blankets. Like seeds, they’re drawn inside the husks.
Fall and winter were once the times when the community turned inwards towards itself. The culture followed nature in its cycles. The harvests done, the stores filled, the work of summer complete, it was time to go fallow with the lengthening of the night, the waning of the light.
This was when the stories were told. The myths, fables and tales that stirred the unconscious. A time when our thoughts of who we were fell like leaves to be transformed in the soil of the earth.
When the light returned in early spring, the land, and the hearts, had been readied to spring forth once again, and give birth to life.