Revisiting Old Friends

It’s always interesting to watch how various plants and other denizens of the biosphere around our home in the Sierra Foothills change and evolve over time.  Remember the sprouting acorn mentioned in the first journal entry here? Well, it’s still alive.  It had a difficult summer, but it persevered and is moving forward with its life.

The Magnolia which blossomed this summer, but then suffered a violent set-back on the antlers of an immature buck, is doing well.  The lovely blossom it produced turned into a beautiful parchment-like array of old petals with a brilliant, regal red center.

It’s often the case that the persimmons hide amongst the thick green leaves during the early fall, and one cannot easily tell how many may be present.  This year was no exception.  As Fall progresses, the persimmons seem to kindle an ember-like glow from within, and they become more visible.  Although we thought we may have few of them this year, we are finding abundant persimmons on the tree as Autumn deepens towards winter.

Persimmon in Fall

If you look close, the persimmons are visible in that image.

There are so many fascinating types of oak tree here in the Sierras.  I discovered what was a new one for me last weekend.  It’s called the Leather Oak (it has medicinal properties as well).  We found it while hiking nearby on a horse trail.  It reminds me of the live oak because it has ever-green leaves, although they do look more like Holly.

Leather Oak

And, at the end of the front lawn, I discovered these delightful “Russian-Hat-Wearing” Live Oak acorns and arranged them on the base of the tree.

Live Oak

Mists Purpureal

The leaves are falling quickly now.  It’s been dry and warm during the day, but in the evenings, we’ve seen purple vapors in the sky, too thin and spread out to call “clouds.” They remind me, in some ways, of the “Angel of Death” in the Ten Commandments!  Except that they are purplish rather than green. They endure for less than 30 minutes in the evening, and then are gone.  The moon, as a slender crescent, seems obscured behind them, like a distant dancing girl behind veils of mist. There’s a stillness and quiet that descends over the countryside while this transpires.  It’s a lovely Autumn atmosphere, evoking a painfully  sweet sense of the passing of days and the coming of long nights.

I find myself wondering, “What have I accomplished, what remains undone? What has been lost, and what now exists?  Where have my priorities been?Where should they be now?”

Yet, during the day, all is light and warmth, in some ways almost painfully dry and warm!  The leaves crackle like crazy, so dry are they.  The pine trees are even turning brown this year.  And yet, with El Nino off the coast, this is supposed to be a wetter year (in California).  But that may yet be so.

I find myself noticing cemeteries more often, the old listing stones, the rough iron grates. Samhain was traditionally a recognition of those who’ve gone before and an opportunity to be thankful for what gifts they bequeathed in their lives to those who follow.  I find it also a time to contemplate my own inevitable demise.

The earth seems inviting in some ways, with its vast, dark silence and peace. The acorns scattered profligately over the ground this year inspire a sense of great fecundity and that the earth is filled with treasure, everywhere.  Planting the body eventually, perhaps soon, perhaps later, into the earth feels like taking off the yoke of hard work to rest in the company of a blessed nurturing force.

I have the image of descending a rough, damp stone staircase under the great gnarled roots of old trees, past the thick heady loam of the forest, under the rough red soil, to find a deep, open cavern, warmed by huge robust fires and teeming with sleepless revelers, who, robustly laughing, pound affectionately on my back as I enter and welcome me to the true life.

Autumn Portal

Autumn Lights

“Along the coast-road, by the headland,
the early lights of winter glow.
I’ll pour a cup to you my darlin’,
and raise it up, say ‘Cheerio!‘”
-Ian Anderson

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I enjoy looking at the “art” of nature through its seemingly random arrangements of, say, branches, leaves, seed-pods, grasses, clouds, etc.  During Autumn, all these artistic “renderings” become lighted. For example, take a look at this image showing a view upward toward a tree on our lawn.

Fall Maple Beside the House

The beautiful lines of the dark branches against the now luminescent leaves of this tree and the backdrop of a pure blue Fall sky is striking.  To emphasize these lines and shapes, I took this image into Photoshop® and fiddled with it a bit.

Autumn Maple Altered To Illustrate Forms

Those are some pretty weird colors (appropriate for Halloween!), but when you alter an image this way, it seems to help the mind escape habitual patterns of perception.  In this case, it seems to allow one to see the fascinating shapes and contours which nature has crafted into this particular  Maple tree.  The original Fall colors contribute to the overall patterns as well, and when altered in this way, that aspect is also emphasized.

If it weren’t for the fact that this is a known shape, one could enjoy this as an abstract painting or work of art.  It’s the shape and form, the flow of energy, separated from the association with an external object that I hope to call attention to by this exercise.

Taking that process just a bit further, with nothing but some creative “Photoshoppery,” one can emphasize hidden shapes and patterns in the above image to an extreme point.  The following is purely from the original image above, just manipulated creatively through Photoshop® to bring out more of what nature has hidden within itself.  Nothing was added to the image.  All that was done was to emphasize and de-emphasize certain aspects of a portion (the mid-right margin, basically) of the original image in an artful way.

Nature's Hidden Arts

Nature gives us many such marvelous things to enjoy, especially during Autumn.  Here’s a close-up of a leaf I found while walking around the property, camera in hand.

Leaf of Autumn

I love the fact that the leaf looks like parchment and the veins like sacred hieroglyphs hinting at hidden laws and whispered marvels.

This might be a persimmon leaf. But I’m not sure because its location didn’t seem to indicate a suitable source.  However, if you click on that link, the persimmon leaf shown does look like the leaf from which the above image was taken (and we do have a persimmon tree on the property).  In fact, our persimmon has a number of nice green fruits which have just lately begun to turn slightly orange, as if they’re being gradually fired from within.

Here’s another lovely artistic arrangement by nature from a woods by the house.

Maple Leaf Under the Trees

In enjoying that image, I feel compelled to quote Heraclitus again (frag. B124): “The most beautiful order is a heap of sweepings piled at random.” The word he used for “order” was the Greek “Kosmos,” which implies an ordered system, an interrelated structure, the opposite of chaos. We can see that order manifested in all that unfolds before our eyes when we observe the earth in its natural state.

And to close, from that same woods looking up from where the above leaf was laid.

A California Woods in Autumn

Autumn Around Here

Maple Leaf -- Autumn Missive

This leaf fell near the front gate; it’s curling like
a brightly illuminated manuscript, etched with
Autumnal writing.

Now that it’s mid-autumn here for us, there’s been a lot to do recently to prepare for winter.  One of the prime autumn tasks is to cut wood for our wood stoves, which are our main source of heat.

Cut That Wood!

As today is a blustery, rainy day, all that wood and some other dry items had to be covered with tarps.  I don’t have a picture of that, so you’ll have to use your imagination.  It’s not pretty, but I feel good looking at those tarps getting drenched in the down-pour because I can imagine all my wood piles, the shed, my out-door work-bench, all staying nice and dry underneath.

When it’s wet outside, some of our seven cats don’t like to go outside to do their duty, as they say.  So, we have to bring in a litter box for them.  This goes for rainy days like today, as well as those winter days when the snow comes down, or the temps dip into the teens.  Mainly, it’s the older cats who feel this way.

After I fix some cedar shingles on the side of the house, complete the bathroom tile job, cover the leaking roof on the storage shed, check and setup the basement sump-pump, park the tractor in it’s little barn, take down the ladders in the orchard, button up the greenhouse, cover the gas grill, make sure the cars have new windshield wipers, check the roof on the cabin, put out the rain gauge, put all the tools away, secure the plastic covering on the porch-room, and etc… then I can spend some time admiring some of the works of this year’s Autumn “collection.”

These “Red-hot pokers” are one of our favorite fall-time spectacles.  Viewed together with the orange berries (“pomes”) on the Pyracantha, it makes for a glorious fall scene.

Red-Hot Poker & Pyracantha

Pyracantha Pomes (Orange for Fall!)

Even the Poison Oak puts on a cloak of burgundy for Fall.

Poison Oak

It seems difficult to grasp, but according to the Ethnobiology database at the University of Michigan, Native Americans had all kinds of uses for Poison Oak.  Though around here we generally find it noxious (I’ve had poison oak and since then have gone to great lengths not to get it again), perhaps, like all plants, it is just something that must be properly respected and understood.   Some people who’ve lived up here in the foothills their whole life seem to be immune to it.  Here’s what they have to say about it at the Ladybird Johnson Wildflower Center:

“Poison Oak is so widespread and common in California that it almost qualifies as the state shrub. Anyone spending time in the lowlands and foothills of the state should learn to recognize the plant and avoid it at all costs. Livestock and deer commonly browse the plant without ill effect.”

One of the Native American uses was to eat the buds in spring (or drink an infusion of the dried roots) to build up resistance to it’s toxic oils. Perhaps they learned from the animals.  It would be something worth researching further.

While walking around the property, I find many lovely and interesting autumn delights.  I’ll spend more time on that in the next post.  For now, here’s a little teaser from a morning walk last weekend.

Autumn Lights

The Poignancy of Autumn, the Meaning of Samhain

Autumn has a poignancy, along side the many pleasures of sight, sound and aroma, that strikes at a deep place within.  Fall is a season of Masks, Myths, and Alchemy.  It’s a season of appearances and essences.  In the dark waters colored with glowing leaves, murky figures drift and linger.  The Autumn moon seems sometimes singing, sometimes weeping, as it picks its way through the dying branches of black oaks.  Frogs croak in the greenhouse in the early evening sunlight that’s become so orange and slanted that the eye is dizzied and the mind inebriated with hints of coming ends and of hidden beginnings.  Hopes walk along with the shadows of chronic griefs yet unhealed.  Samhain, the beginning of winter as the Celts once saw things, is the moment for facing this sometimes bewildering dichotomy beneath Autumn’s bright cloak. It offers humor (colorfully macabre) and harvest treats, and invites one to stretch out with the imagination into the “hidden realms” whence Soul’s emerge and whither they return.

Manzanita & Maple

The world maintains an illusion of persistence. Within the seemingly lasting is continual destruction and rebirth: coiled within every life is the serpent of its death; and folded within death is the foetus of new life.

Autumn helps keep one humble.  New mysteries, new life, and new death, all intermingle in a festival of light and shadow. It’s our mind’s tendency to want a permanent separation between these “opposite” poles, but one’s constantly reminded, by the fact that they are part of every manifestation in life, that there is no separating them.  They’re two sides of the same coin.

The opposite is beneficial;
from things that differ comes the fairest attunement…
–  Heraclitus

“But every tension of opposites culminates in a release,
out of which comes the ‘third.’  In the third, the tension
is resolved and the lost unity is restored.”
– Carl G. Jung

“All beauty is the making one of opposites, and the making one of opposites is what we are going after in ourselves.” – Eli Siegel [emph. added]

It’s not so much that there is an irreconcilable dichotomy in the world.  It’s that the duality is an illusion and that the seeming opposites are faces of a single reality. Autumn helps us remember that by blending the lovely gift of the harvest and the beauty of nature, with the dark and sober truth of dying things and hidden mystery, one can transcend mere nostalgia and sentimentality, the fear of the future, the fear of life vs. death, and live fully in this moment. It’s as if Autumn puts “the Fall” to music in an alchemical theatrical event whose moral is that no one ever “fell” from anything but has always been living in this eternal now that transcends all understanding.

As Issa hinted in a haiku quoted earlier here, you can see infinity in the eye of the dragonfly. The whole world rolls past unhindered before that speck of consciousness, which rests solidly with itself no matter what.  The husk of a dead cicada on a tree branch is a mute marker to all that she or he saw in the endless moments of its life: passing Ravens conversing with each other as they flew over the pine forest, foxes barking messages of food found and food lost across the fields, the orange domestic tabby sitting silently as the sun dropped behind the hill. And with those sights unfolded inner vistas that unfold still within that seemingly mysterious consciousness that continues beyond the mere dry husk of a no longer useful body. Within what “world” does it continue?  The same world from which all this Autumnal beauty emerges, and to which it returns — repeatedly, and repeatedly.

Some Fun things to Explore for Halloween

The Pumpkin

Oh!—fruit loved of boyhood!—the old days recalling,
When wood-grapes were purpling and brown nuts were falling!
When wild, ugly faces we carved in its skin,
Glaring out through the dark with a candle within!
-John Greenleaf Whittier

As Samhain (aka Halloween) approaches, here are some fun things to explore!

Enjoy the Skeleton Dance.  This is an old Walt Disney production with music by Carl W. Stalling.  More information is here.

Go on a virtual tour of Paris’s “City of the Dead.”

Attend the Los Angeles “Dia De los Muertos” annual celebration at the Hollywood Forever cemetary.

Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and cauldron bubble.Fillet of a fenny snake, In the cauldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting, Lizard’s leg and owlet’s wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. -Shakespeare (Macbeth)

Some articles for Halloween

Man attends own funeral

Are Danes taking ‘green’ too far by recycling corpses?

“Husband’s coffin kills woman on way to cemetery”

The Library of Dust
The Library of Dust (Author’s Site)

Haunted Libraries

He met a hound that came from Hel. That one had blood upon his breast, and long did he bark at Baldrs father. Onward rode Odin – the earth-way roared - till he came to the high hall of Hel. -The Eddic poem Baldrs draumar

Samhain Image 1
Samhain Image 2
Dia De Los Muertos
A Halloween Gallery (art of Lewis Barrett Lehrman)
A Halloween Poem

A couple of Good Books for Halloween:

H.P Lovecraft (very good anthology)
God’s Demon, Wayne Barlowe
Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett
The Fantastic Art of Beksinski
Brushfire: Illuminations from the Inferno by Wayne Barlowe

Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf, Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf Of the ravin’d salt-sea shark, Root of hemlock digg’d i’ the dark, Liver of blaspheming Jew, Gall of goat, and slips of yew Silver’d in the moon’s eclipse, Nose of Turk and Tartar’s lips, Finger of birth-strangled babe Ditch-deliver’d by a drab, Make the gruel thick and slab: Add thereto a tiger’s chaudron, For the ingredients of our cauldron.Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble. -Shakespeare (Macbeth)

Windumemanoth

It’s been rather cool here in the Motherload recently.  And refreshing!  Clear skies, leaves just starting to turn.  Autumn began last week, on Tuesday at 2:19PM PST.  The Celts considered the months of Autumn to be August, September, and October. That really makes sense to me.  Every year, at the beginning of August (which as we’ve mentioned here before was known to the Celts as lughnasadh, or “first harvest”), I notice a feeling of the end of summer.  The cicadas start singing, seeming to push the days quickly forward — it’s almost as if they are the cosmic alarm clock sounding the impending end of the warm and comfortable summer months, the soon to come harvests, and the stolid winter to follow.  They say to us, “Get yourselves together for the hard winter months to come.  Now is the time!”  Also, during that time, you can feel a shift in air currents and temperatures.  There is a tangible change.

At any rate, 2:19PM last week was not an obvious watershed moment for most of us! Due in part to “thermal latency,” it’s difficult to notice a sudden change.  This phenomanon is such that heat is cached in the soil and the atmosphere so that, while astronomically Autumn is upon us, it takes time for the climate to actually shift.  This is undoubtedly what lead the Celts to consider October as part of Autumn.

The Old English word for October was Winterfylleth (OE winterfylleþ).

“October was known as Winterfylleth, which is a term that is said to mean Winter-full-moon. Winterfylleth signalled the end of summer and the start of winter. As the name of the month means Winter-full-moon, it’s likely that winter was judged to start on the sighting of the first full moon of that month.” [link]  Copyright © 2000-2005 by Stuart Alan.  According to Mr. Alan, “…this information comes from De Temporum Ratione, which was written by the Venerable Bede in eighth century England.”

In the Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, Part 5, by James Hastings, it is stated that, “Bede says [in de Temporum Ratione, ch. 5] that in former times the Angli calculated their months according to the course of the moon.”  It goes on to say that the word month is from an old Anglo Saxon word monath, stemming from their word for moon. In Yule and Christmas, Their Place in the Germanic Year, by Alexander Tille, the author, analyzing Bede and other sources, states the following on page 143.

“[this] month is said to bear the ingenious name of Winter-fylleth, or winter full moon, which is not a month-name at all but merely the name of a date from which the beginning of winter is supposed to be reckoned.”

Thus “winter-full-moon” was the first full moon in what we call October, and the occurrence of that moon indicated to the original inhabitants of England that winter was emerging.  Mr. Tille seems to think that the demarcations for what we now call “months” (a Roman construct) do not correspond well  to the divisions of time the Anglo Saxons employed, for celebrations, harvest, and to know where they were on the earth’s annual trek.  You can read all about this in pages 142 through 147. The basic point is the Anglo Saxons divided time up into lunar cycles, primarily, but also grouped some of these cycles into “three-score-day tides” and other periods of time. Also, the start and stop dates of these cycles don’t mesh well with the Roman months. In fact, the period the Anglo Saxons called Giuli, was what we now call November (25) through January (24) — that is, before and after solstice.

Dividing annual time up into lunar cycles makes a lot of pragmatic sense because the moon itself is the most persistent and widely visible indication of the passage of time (beyond the day to day solar cycle).  As Mohammad Ilyas says (R.A.S. CANADA. JOURNAL V. 80, NO. 6/DEC, P. 328, 1986),

“Almost all early civilizations started with the lunar calendar (e.g. Babylonians, Greeks, Jews and Eyptians in the Middle East; Aztecs and Incas in the West; Chinese and Hindus in the East)… Several major communities (e.g. Jews, Chinese, Hindus and Muslims) still employ the lunar systems in either a pure or mixed (luni-solar) form, and to varying degrees, in the daily life and main festivals of their respective communities. Despite its long history and the fact that the lunar calendar still governs the lives of almost 3 out of 4 people on this planet… the lunar calendar has remained a local system. In modern times of fast travel and instant communications, it has become essential to have a systematically interrelated time-measurement and calendar.”

Lunar cycles are reflected in the cycles of biological organisms, in the tides, and in crops.  They tend to be an intimate and personal correlation between the individual and the world, and not so much a universal one since we relate to crops, to our bodies, to animals and the sky directly and personally. As Mr. Ilyas implies, the modern world has required a less personal and more universal system of time measurement, one that is abstract and can be referred to without regard to individual circumstances.  That system takes us farther from the soil and the plants which feed us and closer to the seemingly relentless permanence of organized mental constructs.

It’s good to get back to the more visceral and personal through the correlation between what goes on in our own bodies and in the natural world with the orbits and phases of the moon. I think we grow wine here in the Sierra Foothills no so much by the clock, as in accord with the seasons and the unique qualities of this year’s weather. The moon seems to constantly return us to the immediacy of one’s surrounding environment. The moon is the inspiration for a good vintage, and not the International Date Line.

Going back to the Encyclopedia of Religion and Ethics, Part 5, by James Hastings, we read that on the European continent, after Charlemagne encoded Germanic names for the 12 months, the name for October was Windumemanoth, meaning, “grape-gathering-month.”  There’s a wonderful painting by Currier and Ives which illustrates this tangible aspect of Autumn’s October month.

We did have some grapes this year in our orchard, white and red.  Both were eaten by birds while we were spending a week relaxing on the North Shore of Lake Tahoe, in Tahoe Vista.  When we returned, the grapes, which were nearly ripe when we left, were completely gone and only spiked, bare stems remained!  Consequently, we gathered no grapes this October.  But it looks like we still have winter pears, and eventually (perhaps in early December, Giuli in Anglo Saxon, possibly meaning “feast,” and probably originating from Old Norse Jol, the source of Yule and jolly), we’ll have Persimmons.  And that would be a jolly thing, and something by which to celebrate into the long nights.

You might wonder why anyone would spend time looking at old calendar constructs.  All people organize time according to their unique perceptions and experiences.  The older peoples from which we all originate were necessarily closer to nature and its cycles.  Their “systems” for organizing their culture, their experience, and their daily work, help us re-connect with the natural world and, therefore, with the tendencies of our bodies, and those of the flora and fauna around us, and with the movements of stars and planets.  Ultimately, it can help us regain some of our understanding of this physical and spiritual world in which we live, and reconnect to deeper purpose and fulfillment.  At least, that’s how it has been for me.  I know others can relate.  And I’m certain there is more whole and useful understanding that we can all enjoy when we become aware and appreciative of the workings of the natural world.

___________________

Some useful links:

A Old English online dictionary.

A Latin to English online translator.

Annual Dragonfly Visitor Returns

Our old late-summer dragonfly friend(s) made an appearence around September 9th (almost exactly 30 days after their normal time).  But, only one was present!  I’ve attempted to identify the creature using the BugGuide.  The closest match appears to be Common Baskettail (Epitheca cynosura). I wasn’t able to get a photo because by that time, darkness had started to come much earlier and there wasn’t sufficient light.  If the dragonfly had come during their usual visiting time (early August/lughnasadh), s/he would have been swooping about in the slanting rays of the evening sun which tended to make them look goldish in color.

These dragonflies are an annual blessing, a visitation from a band of “flying aces” whose exuberant arcs weave the air around the house with a feeling of wonder and happy grace.  Even though there was but one this year, it’s spirits seemed as high as ever.  It was a marvel to watch it fly and to feel gratified by its obvious joy in living.

The distant mountains
are reflected in the eye
of the dragonfly
-Issa

Delicious autumn!

“Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.” – George Eliot

“O Autumn, laden with fruit, and stained With the blood of the grape, pass not, but sit Beneath my shady roof…” William Blake

“There is a harmony in autumn, and a luster in its sky, which through the summer is not heard or seen, as if it could not be, as if it had not been!” -Shelley

“Clouds of insects danced and buzzed in the golden autumn light, and the air was full of the piping of the song-birds. Long, glinting dragonflies shot across the path, or hung tremulous with gauzy wings and gleaming bodies.” -Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

“Everyone must take time to sit and watch the leaves turn.”- Elizabeth Lawrence

Lughnasadh and Autumn’s Approach – Part 2

looking at the mountain
looking at the sea…
autumn evening
-Kobayashi Issa

Could there be a simpler or more sublime invocation of the delights of Autumnal contemplation and reflection than this?  Issa was a master!

In part one we visited with the dragonflies around our place in the Sierra Foothills between lovely Lake Tahoe and Sacramento.  Now I’d like to talk a little about some of the other delights and insights of Autumn’s gradual emergence, as it progresses from Lughnasadh (first harvest) in early August, to Mabon (second harvest) in late September.  I use these terms not because I identify with neopaganism (I don’t have anything against it either), but because these concepts encompass many of the traditional ideas that reflect one’s  experiences of these times of year.  These ideas help establish a medium for interacting with each other on a deeper level than do the day-to-day mechanical processes of our abstract and unrooted civilization.  They provide an opportunity to recognize the roots, the nourishment, and to regain appreciation for the miracles of nature.

This past weekend there was a cool breeze that held the promise of yet cooler weather and imminent changes.  The trees seemed a little greener.  The moon hid behind the large tulip tree in our front yard while at the top it’s verdant leaves still bathed in the pink glow of sunset.  The breeze stopped in the late evening and stillness set in.  Only a lone cricket could be heard.  The cats were curled up and sleeping on the porch, on a rug, or on a chair. I sat for a time and listened and tried to find the deepest center I could find.

Late Summer Moon through Trees on our Front Lawn

One of the challenges that often comes with these pre-Autumn days is that we generally have a bear in the orchard.  Normally, s/he breaks a small branch or two, occasionally a big one.  This year, the Bear has been positively destructive.  He literally ripped apart a delightful little plum tree from our orchard.  This was my wife’s favorite tree.  It produced small, sweet Italian Plums.  The Bear (I’ve decided to capitalize “Bear” because this Bear is Big and Relentless) also tore a large (6″ dia.) branch from another plum tree in the orchard (he goes for sweets, obviously), a smaller branch from a pear tree, roughed up an apple tree, and broke some smaller branches on another pear, as well as breaking a large branch from a neighbor’s apple tree.  We don’t want to interfere with his life, but his destruction of ours has prompted us to seek help from the Fish & Game Service.  We’ll see how that goes.

One night while I was walking down to turn on the irrigation water for the orchard, I saw a pair of eyes glimmering green on the other side of the small wood between the front lawn and the orchard.  I aimed my LED head-light more carefully and could see that these were large eyes, low to the ground.  There was no doubt in my mind that this was the Bear.  Katie, our small calico cat, sat staring at me, wondering why we weren’t making our usual evening trip into the orchard.  She didn’t seem at all concerned that the giant beast was lurking.  The Bear and I gazed at each other for some time.  Finally, the water pressure built enough and the sprinklers in the orchard began to hiss and sputter.  The Bear turned lazily to the side and loped off through some scotch broom and acacia brush.

As if we hadn’t already had sufficient destruction from our animal neighbors, this morning I discovered that some buck has apparently decided that our little magnolia is a great scratching post, do doubt for his budding antlers!  This was heartbreaking indeed!  He had ripped several branches off the small tree on one side and they lay pitifully on the ground.  But it was off to work and no time to dwell on it.  We didn’t expect that one, at all.  Time to build another fence!

That there is occasional destruction from our animal neighbors isn’t unexpected.  Generally, it’s tolerable.  This year, for some reason, it is much more extreme than it has been the 12 years we’ve been living where we live.  In fact, I’ve observed a variety of marked differences between this year and others. The ground is so littered with acorns that in many places they crunch under foot as you walk.  Not surprisingly then, squirrels seem more numerous and more active.  But we don’t have as many mosquitoes this year.  We don’t have as many bats.  We don’t have our usual lughnasadh dragon-fly visitors (as mentioned in Part 1).  The weather has been both very hot and much cooler than usual.  We actually had rain in early August, a first since we’ve been living here.  Fires in California, and near us, have been fewer but fiercer.  Many pines and cedars seem browner this year than before.  And yet the water in our spring has been more abundant.  It’s been an atypical and rather ambivalent season, to say the least!

This is mirrored, of course, in our social and political spheres, as well, which have been atypical in many ways; many things are coming forward that never have before, many old assumptions are tested (many broken), the very foundations of our government and political society seem in the midst of profound change.

Moreover, the weather all over the world seems different (although, as far as the Pacific Coast is concerned, it is an El Nino year).  And we hear of asteroids or comets “grazing” the earth, of extreme solar activity threatening climate, communications and electricity, of the possibility of the earth’s magnetic field flipping polarities (which would expose us to greater radiation from space for a time and of course disrupt navigation).  Global warming, energy, water and food scarcity, and poverty resound in our awareness as pressing concerns.  There is so much now that seems to disturb the settled order of things.

This can be a source of fear and depression.  But it can also be a prompting to seek deeper sources of fulfillment and understanding, perhaps within one’s own consciousness.  I think that’s something Autumn helps us with.  As well as being a time for understanding the temporary nature of life’s conditions and enjoying the fruits of previous labors, it’s also time for returning to the sources of things.  We recognize the earth as the source of our nourishment.  For some, there is a recognition of community as a vital source of emotional fulfillment, support, and growth.  And, ultimately, we have to seek an abstract, but tangible, spiritual source to find true happiness.

Autumn’s fleeting colors, the almost perceptible flickering of ghosts along the forest’s edge, the rolling of leaves in the street, the migrating of birds — all of these things whisper of greater, less tangible forces orchestrating the course of things.  It’s these forces we are prompted to understand and draw near to, because they are, as Heraclitus pointed out so long ago in his concept of the Logos, the cause of things, the purpose of things, and the real source of one’s own existence.  Growing conversant on that topic, becoming allied with that force and friendly with it, seems to be one of Autumn’s sacred counsels.

In the circle of Autumn’s large and glowing sun we listen to that music and those teachings.  As the dark gathers ’round, we turn inward where that sun directs us, where that sun never sets.

Autumn Sunset