On the Eve of Autumn

When I left home yesterday morning to travel away from these beloved mountains, the Cottage was wrapped in a gray and white comforter of dense fog. I first slid into it when I went out to tend the chickens and do morning garden patrol with Hank. The world becomes a living watercolor painting in these moments; vivid and soft, welcoming and haunting, cozy, safe, and holding a little hint of danger. 

"Don't go," the Fog said. "Have a lie in. Wrap yourself up like a fox in the dewy grass and explore the worlds inside your mind. Stay here with me." 

The invitation was tempting, truth be told. Had yesterday's adventure been mine alone I might have accepted; at least not physically traveled beyond the borders of the Cottage proper, anyway. There are worlds within worlds upon worlds to be explored right here. Sigh. Other days and times, perhaps. Adventure called, and I had to go. 

The Cottage is only two-tenths of a mile from the Swannanoa River, and my travel partner suggested that the fog would lift once we were away from the water. By the time I was driving across the I40 overpass, I knew that the river wasn't the source of the fog. And what I thought would be left behind after a wee bit of driving stayed with us for nearly 100 miles. Thanks to headphones and sleepy people, I spent most of that time on my own, musing about the mysteries of nature and people and how sometimes the nature of people doesn't seem natural at all. 

A few miles east of the Town of Black Mountain, I-40 climbs up Old Fort Mountain in a steep, winding route. The fog was so heavy in some spots I could see the road but not the surrounding landscape. Then the coolest thing happened. I drove around a curve and the fog ahead was backlit by the sun, creating a tunnel of light that appeared slightly above the horizon line. That tunnel appeared and disappeared as the road twisted and climbed, but every time it came back into view it was larger and brighter. 

(Side quest: The irreverent child within me heard clips from Poltergeist loud and clear: "Do *not* go into the light. Stop where you are. Turn away from it. Don't even look at it." But then, of course, once the truth of what was happening was understood, contradictory Tangina said, "Run to the light, Carol Anne!"

Right? There I was, having this beautiful experience of the Mysteries, and my brain did that thing. That's the way it should be, though, as expressed in one of my favorite lines from Doreen Valiente's Charge of the Goddess: "And therefore let there be beauty and strength, power and compassion, honour and humility, mirth and reverence within you." I don't know about all of that, but most of it is housed in this sometimes wonky being of me. END of side quest.)

As I neared the top of the mountain I expected the light to have dissolved the fog on the other side, but it hadn't. I didn't disappear into the light, or fall through a portal. I simply spent the next two hours singing along to one of my favorite playlists while I mused about people, mysteries, and myself. Sometimes the songs coincided with my musing, other times they took me in new directions. It was a beautiful day for a good drive, and a good way to spend the day before the day before Autumn. 

I woke this morning to sweet, cool air and another heavy fog. I spent more time in the garden than yesterday, observing, feeling, and just being present. I can feel the shift as the Equinox approaches and the Wheel turns the world into Autumn. There is an air of calm excitement mixed with the knowledge that preparations for the dark days must continue. There is so much work to be done. 

Although it is normal to have foggy mornings at this time of year, I believe these two were a particular notice to me to be mindful of the Mysteries in the days ahead. My life has seen big changes over the last few months, and to be sure, there are more to come. Tomorrow I shall do a bit of work to help make sure I maintain my balance through what lies ahead. 

Blessed Autumn, my friends. May you find your balance and your blessings equally in the light and darkness on the Equinox, and enjoy the abundance of your harvest. 

Love and Peace from Bear Path Cottage

The First Day of September

 I was awake at 4:30 a.m. and thinking how oddly quiet that dark hour seemed when the spell was broken by a bear cub calling in distress. She was somewhere to the northwest of the Cottage, up the mountain I suppose, and her cries were first answered by the deep staccato barks of a dog whose voice was unfamiliar to me.

Hank went out to pace and add his own voice to the night. I walked to the fence line and, standing still, sang my own sounds to weave a new spell.

Comfort. Courage. A summoning of bear. A howl of defiance. Then, “hush now.”

Hank stood next to me, gone quiet. The other dog lost his voice. The cub stopped crying. In a few moments the normal and expected night sounds returned; crickets and whoever else sings under the stars at this time of year. The danger had passed.

I have felt the collective relief stirred by the shifting political energy of the last couple of weeks. There is new hope slipped into the basket with old hopes that have been washed clean and nicely folded. It’s a lovely feeling, for certain. But it doesn’t mean we can let our guard down.

It doesn’t mean the world is suddenly safe space.

It doesn’t mean we have time or space to forget who we are, the power that we have, or the work that is ours to do.

I know who I am, in the dark and in the light and all the spaces in between. Do you?

Good morning on this first day of September. This is a gentle reminder to begin (or continue) getting ready for the shift into Autumn.

I’m writing this morning, but later today there will be cleaning, cleansing, and clearing happening. And I’ve promised Larry a baked custard, so some kitchen witching as well.

Peace and love from the Bear Path.

#onthebearpath #cottagewitch #bearpathcottage #peacelovehope #hank #blackbear

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