The colours of autumn 🍁 even though the weather is unseasonal,at least in Newmarket.
Autumn for me is beautiful,the conkers are enormous, the leaves not yet turning, roses and magnolia are still in bloom.
It's been a while since I wrote, inspiration has been a faint trickle. The spirit in inspiration has a mind of her own,coming and going in their own time fluid and free . Sometimes a morning inspiration arrives;the product of a dream or a blossom from a seed buried in the recesses of unconscious mind. The depths of our human experience are mysterious.
I'm entering a new phase , feeling the cold in my bones different from before, the dusk brings tiredness sometimes,the bright moon calls me awake in the night. The time is more flexible than it was when I was tied to working hours and that I know,is a luxury of my birth and circumstance.
Reflection is more frequent, stillness and silence more welcome.
Entering the crone age is becoming an adventure ,an exploration, a becoming.
Entering Autumn again,the time of introspection,of dreaming,of darkness and going within. Becoming a seed which holds the emergence of Spring. It is a season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, as John Keats wrote. It is the feast day of Michael and All Angels and the time for remembering our ancestors and those killed in wars. It is a gateway to Winter,a time to preserve and prepare for the darkness and a step on our pilgrim path. Our Christian and pagan ancestors knew that giving thanks for the harvest was part of a spiritual life and sometimes a moment of joy and celebration in a difficult world.Whether it's god or nature who provides,we do have much to be thankful for.