Hazy Days and The Blessed In-Between

I am finding, more and more over the years, that the deep breath between the notable points of the seasons is where I feel the most inspired. It is the softer spaces, the blurred boundaries between one tide of the year and the next, that spark a swelling in my heart and spirit. All seasons have their beauty. Even the fierce heat of the last several weeks, the height of summer's fire before the sun's rule over the day began to slip, has had its own charms. But it's these in-between times, when one portion of the year looses its grip and another season begins to whisper of what is to come, that I feel my pulse quicken and my mind swirl with musings and enchantments.

It's been a difficult summer for many of us. My compass has been spinning since May and I've managed to chart my course only when I shifted my focus to my own work and well-being. When my gaze lingered on others for too long, I faltered. When I chose to expend all my energy taking care of folks, it became a too-heavy burden instead of a gift I could offer. I had to reach for my heart like I did the summer peaches, find comfort in my own arms and hands, and sweeten my spirit with staggering sunsets, meandering waterways, and the call of osprey.  

I found solace in the shady spots of the yard and gardens these last few sultry months, in books and poetry, in fairs and farmers' markets, and in a brief escape to the ocean. But mostly I managed to thrive in the way I always do. Dirt under my fingernails, walking beside the river, eating food right out of the garden, and transforming my herb harvests into teas and balms and magics. Right at this moment I've got calendula flowers set out to dry, a basket on the counter of scarlet paste tomatoes and basil still warm from the heat of the day, and I'm slipping goldenrod into a jar to make an extract to assist my lungs should I fall to a cold this winter. I haven't harvested all the plants I wanted to this year, didn't reseed the garden beds that were available after the spring crops came to fruition, and I haven't been out in the woods nearly enough. But I've done what I could do, and I don't have much care for running myself ragged anymore. I'd rather run through cornfields.

“At some point in life the world's beauty becomes enough. You don't need to photograph, paint, or even remember it. It is enough.”  - Toni Morrison     

Virgo season is my season. It's the sweet sigh of relief after a frenzied summer in the valley. Though the frogs and crickets still sing each night I can hear the low murmur underneath those songs again. The whisper of trees making less chlorophyll as the days shorten. The nesting and gathering of animals preparing for the colder months. The owls were calling the other night - a haunting chant I haven't heard since late winter. The sumac is blushing, the rowan heavy with berries, and the geese are gathering in the fields and lakes to prepare for their long journey.

I'm feeling wildly sensual of late. Electric. My skin is the velvet of flower petals and my hair is perfumed with herb blossoms. I am cat-mint and raspberries, the fragrance of ripe garden tomatoes, and the delighted surprise of a wild apple tree found in the forest. I am the opening of evening primrose in the dusk. I can't stop smelling my skin. I've been working with damiana and kava, infusing massage oils and sipping elixirs and reveling in their magic. I want to press pause on these too-short twilights so I have more time to roam between bats and dragonflies, nibbling the last offerings of the ever-bearing strawberries while my feet press sigils into earth and grass.

There are exciting things on the horizon. Fall fairs, a birthday, and an enchanting journey. I'm slowly planning October fetes, mulling over harvest tasks, and pulling out sweaters from the back of the wardrobe. But this year I'm trying not to get too far ahead of myself. I'm soaking in these moments that are bookended by summer and autumn, enjoying the hazy days and cooler nights, knowing that this liminal time has a deep magic all its own.

May the magic find you, too.