The End of the Summer (Dar Williams)

"Today is Autumn Equinox also known as a Pagan holiday called Mabon when night and day are at equal length, it is mainly a harvest festival, it is the last harvest before winter comes. In old times it would be a time to start stocking up on fruit, wheat, corn and grain for the winter months ahead.

This is a time of transformation, The great wheel has turned as we pass into a new season and say goodbye to Summer. The earth is going through a major shift, where darkness will now start to take over light as the nights slowly start to get longer and days get shorter. Cold will slowly start to take over warmth and death will start to take over life as plants will wilt and trees will start to lose their leaves, fields will become baron and grey. wild animals will start to hibernate and gather food for the winter months.

Mabon is a time of thanksgiving, we thank the God and Goddess for all that we have and thank them for the harvest we see before us. The sap of trees returns back to their roots deep in the earth, changing the greens of summer to the fires of autumn, to the flaming reds, oranges and golds. We are returning to the dark from whence we came. The Goddess is radiant as Harvest Queen and the God finally dies with his gift of pure love with the cutting of the last grain, he will descend into the underworld, his last day on earth will be Samhain when a gate will open between our world and underworld making the veil between our two world become thin.

We enjoy the abundance of fruit and vegetables at this time. It is customary to make stews made with root vegetables and to bake home made bread and pies, we would have a big family meal and invite friends and neighbours to join us, drinking cider and apple juice.

On Mabon we adorn our altars with pumpkins, nuts, corn, wheat, squash, fruits and any other seasonal fair and any falling leaves, pine cones or acorns we may find to honour the season and to thank the God and Goddess for the wealth of harvest bestowed upon us. Light candles with Autumn colours of red, orange, white, brown or gold. Also candles of black and white, black to represent the God and white to represent the Goddess. The alter will bring luck and protection. When lighting the candles ask the Goddess for her blessings and the God for protection for the colder, darker months to come.

Mabon is a transition for the Triple Goddess as she goes from her mother phase to her crone phase, her final phase from her journey of the year.

The Autumn Equinox is a time of balance, of both light and dark, it is a time to look within ourselves and balance our thoughts and emotions and to find balance in our lives. To embrace our dark and our light equally as one cannot exist without the other. it is when we stop and relax and enjoy the fruits of our personal harvests, whether they be from toiling in our gardens, working at our jobs, raising our families, or just coping with the hussle and bussle of everyday life.

Mabon reminds us of the cycle of life, death and rebirth. As we go into the dark half of the year, we also know that Spring and Summer will be upon us again and life will flourish once more.

Hoof and Horn, Hoof and Horn

All that dies shall be reborn

Corn and Grain, Corn and Grain

All that falls shall rise again

May your Mabon be memorable and your hearts and spirits be filled to overflowing."

When I resurrected my blog in January 2020, I vowed not to re-use songs/books/poems/quotes... but it is a no-brainer to recycle Dar's anthem on this Autumn Equinox, 14 (!) years later almost to the day... 🍃🍁🍂

P.S.  AmyW, I miss our End-of-the-Summer-cards tradition; thanks for coordinating all those many years... 💞

P.P.S.  EOTS is also responsible for initiating a dear friendship with another Dar-lister in 1997, and we maintain a strong connection still... 😍

SONG:  The End of the Summer by Dar Williams

BOOK:  The End Of Summer by Rosamunde Pilcher

POEM:  Song for Autumn by Mary Oliver

In the deep fall

don’t you imagine the leaves think how

comfortable it will be to touch

the earth instead of the

nothingness of air and the endless

freshets of wind? And don’t you think

the trees themselves, especially those with mossy,

warm caves, begin to think

of the birds that will come — six, a dozen — to sleep

inside their bodies? And don’t you hear

the goldenrod whispering goodbye,

the everlasting being crowned with the first

tuffets of snow? The pond

vanishes, and the white field over which

the fox runs so quickly brings out

its blue shadows. And the wind pumps its

bellows. And at evening especially,

the piled firewood shifts a little,

longing to be on its way.

QUOTE:  "Come, little leaves," said the Wind one day, "Come to the meadows with me and play. Put on your dresses of red and gold; For Summer is past, and the days grow cold.” ~ George Cooper

Lone Palm (Jimmy Buffett)

Eight years in a row, after we moved to South Florida from Atlanta, my family of five vacationed in the same spot every year - friends of ours turned us on to the Sandpiper Gulf Resort at Ft. Myers Beach (on the west coast of our state) and we so looked forward to the annual ritual of our week-long mid-August getaway, rolling our deposit over from one year to the next to reserve the same ground-floor, oceanfront room. The name sounds substantially more upscale than the place actually was, thank goodness - we loved the mom-and-pop operation, the laid-back atmosphere and the family-friendly vibe.

Unfortunately four summers ago, management from the hotel called us in June, said they would be doing renovations on the hotel and were going to have to cancel our stay - we were devastated but, when Hurricane Charley came through the area on August 13, 2004 (the week we would have been there), it felt like an opportunistic meant-to-be we were safe at home. For a variety of reasons (scheduling/financial), we never resurrected the routine and we haven't been back to Ft. Myers Beach since - this week got me thinking how much I've missed the tradition. A memory stream-of-consciousness follows:

I adore my husband and three children and we certainly made a point to cross paths and spend time together during this very special week - they also acknowledged and respected my desire for alone time (as opposed to my normal cycle of nuturing and giving, whether to family members, friends, work or civic organizations).

I packed a totebag full of books and read in my lounge chair by the pool or ocean during the day... and on the patio until the wee hours - as I drank my morning coffee on the very same patio, I watched the pelicans and gulls and sandpipers do their little beach dances, whether it was with flying swoops in the water or graceful arcs over land or tiny footprints in the sand.

I meandered down the shoreline in the early a.m., for shell- and thought-gathering, searching the glassy sea for dolphin sightings or a surfside stingray migration - I took another, faster walk in the afternoon, usually with my walkperson, for exercise...

I loved the taste of salt on my lips, the smell of pina-colada sunscreen and the feel of the warmth on my skin, transforming it to glorious shades of mixed copper/bronze - I made a point to be showered and seated on the seawall to celebrate the sunset each evening... and I awarded this amazing feat (and feast) of nature with a round of applause (yay, god!), and swore never to take it for granted.

Some nights found us savoring ice cream from a local vendor in town (enough said!) and we enjoyed at least one family miniature golf excursion - we saw the same families at the hotel year after year... and I ate and drank my weight in seafood and Coronas (put de lime in de bottle and drink it all up... :-)

This became our way of marking time - some people chart the year by the last day of summer or January 1 but, to us, it was always that particular week in August. We went there to regroup and replenish and refill... as a couple, as a family and individually... and we left, knowing we had gathered enough inner resources of love and comfort and serenity to last us another year. Some of it we did holding tightly to each other and some of it we did side by side and some of it we did alone, but mission was accomplished all the same - as long as we all still considered this special time a "vacation", in some way, shape or form, it continued to fulfill our needs, in warm and secure and sometimes unpredictable ways... and I am now vowing, despite obstacles and difficulties, to make it happen in August 2008...

SONG: Lone Palm by Jimmy Buffett

BOOK: The Shell Seekers by Rosamunde Pilcher

POEM: Beach Glass by Amy Clampitt

While you walk the water's edge,
turning over concepts
I can't envision, the honking buoy
serves notice that at any time
the wind may change,
the reef-bell clatters
its treble monotone, deaf as Cassandra
to any note but warning. The ocean,
cumbered by no business more urgent
than keeping open old accounts
that never balanced,
goes on shuffling its millenniums
of quartz, granite, and basalt.
It behaves
toward the permutations of novelty--
driftwood and shipwreck, last night's
beer cans, spilt oil, the coughed-up
residue of plastic--with random
impartiality, playing catch or tag
or touch-last like a terrier,
turning the same thing over and over,
over and over. For the ocean, nothing
is beneath consideration.
The houses
of so many mussels and periwinkles
have been abandoned here, it's hopeless
to know which to salvage. Instead
I keep a lookout for beach glass--
amber of Budweiser, chrysoprase
of Almadén and Gallo, lapis
by way of (no getting around it,
I'm afraid) Phillips'
Milk of Magnesia, with now and then a rare
translucent turquoise or blurred amethyst
of no known origin.
The process
goes on forever: they came from sand,
they go back to gravel,
along with treasuries
of Murano, the buttressed
astonishments of Chartres,
which even now are readying
for being turned over and over as gravely
and gradually as an intellect
engaged in the hazardous
redefinition of structures
no one has yet looked at.

QUOTE: "Every time we walk along a beach some ancient urge disturbs us so that we find ourselves shedding shoes and garments or scavenging among seaweed and whitened timbers like the homesick refugees of a long war." ~ Loren Eiseley

September (Earth, Wind and Fire)

SONG: September by Earth, Wind and Fire

BOOK: September by Rosamunde Pilcher

POEM: September Meditation by Burton D. Carley

I do not know if the seasons remember their history or if the days and

nights by which we count time remember their own passing.

I do not know if the oak tree remembers its planting or if the pine

remembers its slow climb toward sun and stars.

I do not know if the squirrel remembers last fall's gathering or if the

bluejay remembers the meaning of snow.

I do not know if the air remembers September or if the night remembers

the moon.

I do not know if the earth remembers the flowers from last spring or if

the evergreen remembers that it shall stay so.

Perhaps that is the reason for our births -- to be the memory for

creation.

Perhaps salvation is something very different than anyone ever expected.

Perhaps this will be the only question we will have to answer:

"What can you tell me about September?"

QUOTE: "But now in September the garden has cooled, and with it my possessiveness. The sun warms my back instead of beating on my head... The harvest has dwindled, and I have grown apart from the intense midsummer relationship that brought it on." ~ Robert Finch