And Into the Darkening

It's that time of year. The light is contracting, all is in silhouette as we await the snow queen's arrival. Here in the Great White North, November is rarely cherished, or even welcomed. I think, however, we have to look into the heart of November and find the lessons in the month. What does November teach us? There may be wisdom in its silence.

 

For me, November is time to turn inwards and look to the warmth of home, family, good food, good books, and good music. I can't get enough poetry in November. Funny, that. And this year, I am completely smitten with the following piece of music. It is my November muse.



Hope you are finding your light in the darkening days.

Edit: If you are looking for a charming read for these indigo evenings and like YA fantasy (like I do!), I highly recommend Wildwood by Colin Meloy, singer and songwriter for the Decemberists. The book has beautiful, quirky colour plates illustrated by his wife, Carson Ellis. Find the Globe & Mail review here.

If you're feeling the need for a poetry fix, check out Canadian poet, Alexis Kienlen here. I've read her first book and can't wait to read her second.

Enjoy!

Bwwwaaaa haaa haaa!!

We had so much fun carving pumpkins this year. My little guy absolutely loved it. So much so that we've had to go out and light the candles in them each evening before bedtime so that he can jump around and enjoy them.

His is the little one in the middle, named "Happy Evil", his daddy's is "Happy" on the right and mine is "Saucy Evil Genius" to the left. ;-)

 

Will be taking my wee Captain Jack Sparrow out trick or treating in the evening after his party at preschool. (Sorry, Johnny Depp, I love you, but you got nothin' on my Capt'n for cuteness!) Let's hope for a mild evening for all the kidlets.

Now, for those of you who enjoy a little atmospheric music to go with your smoky green grog, here is a cover by The Strangelings of Donovan's 1966 classic, Season of the Witch. Love the avian imagery in this version.

Wishing you all spooky goodness on Halloween. Bwwwaaahhhaaahhaaa...

A Second Spring

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower. ~Albert Camus

Last weekend we tackled many of the tasks of putting a garden away. We took down the gazebo, stored the furniture, deep watered the trees, shrubs and perennials, chucked much material into the compost and stored away the pots. There is still compost to mound up and burlap screens to place, but they will come later.

 

First I had to stop, dazzled, as I entered the back garden early in the morning after a little jaunt. The sun had just made it over the roof of the house and was sending slants of liquid light through the last vestiges of the garden.

 

There were beads of silver gleaming up at me from along the path.

 

I had intended to go in the house for the hot breakfast hubs was cooking, but instead found myself on my belly, in the dew, with my camera.

 

I silently thanked my neighbours for having so many beautiful trees, especially the oaks. It really is my favourite leaf in the fall.

 

We've had a stunning autumn so far with beautiful weather and brilliant, long-lasting colour. It has lasted so long this year that I feel time has slowed down, allowing me to really savour, for the first time in ages, this luminious season. I will concede that it has, to some measure, restored my soul after this year's all too brief spring and summer. It has loosened up my heart and made me almost giddy some days. I needed that.

I hope your autumn has been just what you needed too. :)

Love in Old October

All things on earth point home in old October; sailors to sea, travellers to walls and fences, hunters to field and hollow and the long voice of the hounds, the lover to the love he has forsaken.
~Thomas Wolfe

There's something about October that compels us to seek out the touchstones of home, whatever they might be and whatever home might signify. For me, it is turning deeper towards my truer self. My creativity is inspired. I need to connect to the earth and things of the earth. I bring branches inside and pull my pottery out of the cupboards. I get out into the ravine in the early mornings. My walk/run regime is turning into more 'run' these days but I slow down for the pretty bits.

I usually start before the sun rises and finish as it begins to warm the earth. I love the smell that rises from the leaves as it melts the frost off them.

This morning was especially sublime; vivid colours, thick, sparkly frost and a perfectly blue sky.

I want jewellery that looks like this. Or maybe a fascinator of glittering leaves. :)

There was the finest glazing of ice on the creek this morning. As pretty as it is, I really do hope it melted later in the day. (I'm just not ready!)

My garden is quietly laying down now. I still, however, crave the final brilliance that October promises. We went to the garden centre last weekend and picked out pumpkins and mums for the front entranceway. My little guy is so excited that we will be carving jack-o-lanterns for Halloween, and so am I. :)

My favourite pumpkins this year are the little white and orange striped ones. Have you seen them? They are so cute and festive looking.

In the Thomas Wolfe quote above he says all things point home in October, including the "lover to the love he has forsaken". If you're feeling the tug of something you've pushed to the back cupboard, this might be the perfect time to take another look at it, in the liquid gold light of old October, and see if the murmur of love is still there. Who knows what treasure you might find tucked away? A talent, a gift, a memory, a relationship? Whatever it is, I bet it will be beautiful. :)

The Gypsy Garden

September has been a beauty this year. With a flush in her cheeks and with a twinkle in her eye, she has begun casting her golden light over the land. I've remembered all that I love about this brilliant month. It is such a fleeting and magical time (and not just because my birthday is in this month!). Really, that deal summer made with winter, the one where winter agreed to her turning to gold and crimson and dancing out with an entourage of swirling leaves and flocking birds, was a clever deal.

 

It starts off with the subtlest blush in the mornings. Even green is a little weary of itself and longs for a bit of flash

 

The garden begins to look a little ragged around the edges, like someone who has spent too many nights out dancing under the moon and now they are a little muddied and their hair a bit wild

 

I've felt like dancing myself these last few weeks. Somehow, this season, with its insouciance stirs a little gypsy in my soul. (My English grandmother always claimed to my dad that there was some gypsy blood on her side. We never knew if this was true, but it seemed terribly romantic to me as a child.)

 

In recent years I've become interested in gypsy music. For an excellent radio documentary on the original gypsy music click here.

I know what is coming. I know the lassitude that deep winter brings. I know all about the days ahead of curling up on the couch with a good book and a glass of wine, candles lit in the late afternoon.

Until those days come, I am dancing in the golden light. To say goodbye to summer, my husband and I waltzed in the back garden in the late evening light. I said my own goodbyes in a field under the stars looking out over the ravine. But today it's time for one last joyous spin, and to thumb our noses at waiting winter. Join me, won't you?