Perhaps I’ll regret wishing for cooler weather, but right now I could use with a bit of a cool down, global warming be damned. It’s fall, and it should feel like it. While I don’t begrudge anyone their warmer weather preferences, this year I’m longing for the requisite colder weather that puts a sharper jaunt in one’s stroll, pricking the senses with a morning chill, and setting nights up for more comfortable slumber.
This moon appeared the other night, portending the harvest that we’ve already had – I wish to reap no more – and it felt cooling, and calming. The moon doesn’t always do that, and usually the tumult it elicits is internal, which is always worse. This time around, I wrangled its energy, my focus like a lasso around its neck – wherever the moon’s neck might proverbially be – and I set the harness with a vice-like grip, riding this pony into the night, over the river and through the woods on the only path that’s ever taken us through fall.
