A moth just went fluttering by the window, out of the dark and against the glass, and reminded me of a snowflake from a somewhat different time of year being tossed up out of the night. More often than not I have to shine a flashlight out into the storm to really be aware that snow is falling. But if the weather is particularly fierce, the flakes waft up against the glass and you know they mean business. Okay, it's only late September. It could be two or three weeks before we see snow. The Equinox is tomorrow morning at 5:06 EDT, and I won't quite be awake to greet it, although I'll be there 24 minutes later. Close enough; it'll be dark, either way.
My holiday season begins with Halloween, actually, and includes about ten major and minor events, give or take. There can be others, but it's exhausting enough already. In recent years we've cut back a bit on some of the celebrating and found that we didn't really miss it. Any parties that want to spring up spontaneously and stomp around the house boozing and singing the night away are welcome, to the point where I really just want to go to bed. Then they can booze and stomp on out into the snow -- maybe go play with the goats. Alas, goats are diurnal, too, and don't really appreciate being awakened at odd hours any more than I do. The horse would probably enjoy it, though. She's a nut job from the get-go.
So, it's merrily on into the long, dark night. I like the way it sparkles and smells of spices and cold. There will be appropriate food and drink, the actions of strongly encouraged ritual, the opportunity to deny all of those and still find a way to mark the passage of all those metaphorical mile markers. Coming out the other side, I'll set my sights on May and be ready to think about gardening again. Oh, yuk. I still have to finish digging the potatoes, don't I? I could die right now and be so invested in the patterns of the future, I wouldn't know it. Anybody have anything they need to tell me?
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