Last night, I had to run outside for a bit, and I was surprised that not only could I smell the approach of Winter, but I could clearly feel it, too. And, lo and behold, this morning everything was frosted over!
Walking to school this morning with the kids was a lot of fun, and we were almost late what for having to stop and analyze every crystalline fallen leaf, every blade of grass that had been rendered a frosty stalagmite. I was sad to see the ivy frosted, it looked pretty, but tomorrow it will be tinged brown.
The Wheel is turning, and the year is quickly drawing to a close. I always feel this sense of urgency at this time of year, like I haven't accomplished what I wanted to. I attribute it, primarily, to ancestral memory, countless generations who felt that same bone-deep chill and knew that if they didn't finish things now they might not survive the coming Winter.
I wonder if my family has begun the grape harvest yet. They live further North than us, and Season changes always seem to take place there about two weeks before they do here. My last visit up, I was surprised by the trees, all of the colors. The trees around here aren't nearly so vibrant. Soon, though. But, my grandparents continue not to announce when such things are going on any more. Our family tradition is so close to extinction; I fear what little I am doing won't be enough.
My childhood was spent with over a hundred acres of woods, fields, and marshes at my disposal. Every aspect of our lives was centered around the Earth, working with Her to pull out our existence, our survival. How can I convey that sense of intimate respect and necessity for the Earth to my children when we live in an apartment?
Adaptation is the key to survival in any situation: you can either choose to survive or to perish. The frost is here, the snow is coming, am I doing enough now to allow for us to see Spring?
Throwing the Bones