The burning of wishes upon every seasonal solstice is a tradition that Andy taught me when we first met, and one which we have faithfully performed with each passing season. No matter where I find myself, I find the time and place to burn the little list of wishes that we send into the universe for safekeeping, hopefully to be made manifest through our own exertions or the happy happenstance of what may come. (One of the more difficult moments was when I was in Boston for the turn into fall, and I had to lean out the bathroom window and burn my list on the fire escape. It worked out. The universe accepts our wishes no matter how they are delivered.)
This year was slightly different as well, as I was up before first light to greet the first day of fall. With my work schedule, I’ve rediscovered my early morning window, and as the sun reluctantly began to light up the sky, I brought a flame to the corner of my wishes and watched them burn in a clay catch-pot. The smoke hung in the humid air, the smell of fall and coziness and cold days to come mingling with the sweet remnants of summer from the already-faded blooms of the angel’s trumpet. Sky brightening, the morning woke to the agitated chirping of a chipmunk. Not everything was still asleep.
