Happy Vernal Equinox (Ostara)

For the Vernal Equinox (Ostara)

Tomorrow marks the Vernal Equinox or Ostara, one of two times in the calendar year (the other being the Autumn Equinox or Mabon) when the Earth and her unruly children hover in perfect balance for a brief interval.

Humans have nothing to do with the origins of this day, a pivotal astronomic point ordained by the natural order of things in the cosmos. On both equinoxes, the Sun is right above the equator, and its annual pathway (the ecliptic) intersects with the celestial equator. Day and night are equal length. We like to say that the Sun is passing over the equator, but it is we and our planet who are in motion, not the magnificent star at the center of our universe.

If I lived further south, tomorrow might be a day of greening and enchantment, a day when Eostre, the old Teutonic goddess of greening and fertility, wanders wild places with her arms full of spring blooms, bestowing blessings on everything she sees. Flowers would spring up in her footsteps as she passed, and she would be attended by hares, her special animal,. The air would be filled with birdsong, with the heady fragrance of rich dark earth and wild springtime herbs.

Alas, the only snowdrops blooming here at the moment are those in a glass jar in my study. It will be a week or two until Lady Spring turns up and decides to stay for a while, but rumors of her imminent arrival persist. It has been a long winter this time around, and Eostre can't show up too soon for me. Our winter birds feel the same. Every feathered visitor to our sleeping garden seems to be declaring its lofty status as a messenger from the sacred, a harbinger of abundance and new life.

In the wee hours of this morning, Beau and I went outside into the garden for a few minutes, and a cold going it was. As we shivered in the star spangled darkness and looked up, it seemed to us that the waning moon bore more than a passing resemblance to a great cosmic egg, a perfect expression of this turning of the wheel with its verdant motifs of warmth, light and new life coming into being.

There is blooming in our thoughts, but it is too cold here for outdoor celebrations, and our festivities are indoors for the most part, a festive lunch with a dear friend, the exchange of gifts, tea and an afternoon of happy natter. Pancakes, berries, whipped cream and local maple syrup are on the menu this year. Yum.

Happy Equinox! Blessings of the season to one and all.

Happy Ostara (Vernal Equinox)

Today marks the Vernal Equinox or Ostara, one of two times in the calendar year (along with the Autumn Equinox or Mabon) when the Earth and her unruly children hover in perfect balance for a brief interval. Humans have nothing to do with the occasion. It is a pivotal astronomic point ordained by the heavens above us, by the natural order of things in this magnificent cosmos where we live out our days, spinning like tops in the Great Round of space and time.

If I lived further south, this might be a day of greening and enchantment, a day when Eostre, the old Teutonic goddess of greening and fertility, wanders wild places with her arms full of spring blooms, bestowing blessings on everything she sees. Trees would leaf out as she passed, and flowers would spring up in her footsteps. As always, she would be attended by hares, her special animal. The air would be filled with birdsong, with the heady fragrance of rich dark earth and wild springtime herbs. 

Winter's snow has departed for the most part, but it is still chilly here, and although there is greening in our thoughts, it will be a few weeks until trees leaf out, and greenery emerges everywhere. Clumps of crocus and snowdrops bloom in protected nooks here and there, but there is little or no blooming in open spaces.  

While I was pottering about in the front yard yesterday morning, several skeins of Canada geese flew overhead, honking their pleasure at being home again. The great birds were so high up we could hardly hear them, and they must have been returnees from somewhere far away. On seeing them, I put down my tools and danced a few steps, and the neighbors must have thought I was off my nut.

At nightfall, Beau and I went outside into the garden for a few minutes, and as we shivered in the star spangled darkness, it seemed to us that this month's waxing moon resembles a great cosmic egg - a perfect expression of this turning of the wheel with its verdant motifs of warmth, light and new life coming into being.

There is blooming in our thoughts for sure, but it is still too cold here for outdoor celebrations. Beau and I will spend time outside in the garden tonight, and we will light a votive candle on the deck if the north wind permits it, but our festivities are indoors for the most part. There is room for everyone at our hearth and there are enough mugs, plates and comfortable chairs to go around. Welcome, and come ye in!

Sunday, Saying Yes to the World

Do you see how an act is not, as young men think, like a rock that one picks up and throws, and it hits or misses, and that's the end of it. When that rock is lifted, the earth is lighter; the hand that bears it heavier. When it is thrown, the circuits of the stars respond, and where it strikes or falls, the universe is changed. On every act the balance of the whole depends. The winds and seas, the powers of water and earth and light, all that these do, and all that the beasts and green things do, is well done, and rightly done. All these act within the Equilibrium. From the hurricane and the great whale's sounding to the fall of a dry leaf and the gnat's flight, all they do is done within the balance of the whole.

But we, insofar as we have power over the world and over one another, we must learn to do what the leaf and the whale and the wind do of their own nature. We must learn to keep the balance. Having intelligence, we must not act in ignorance. Having choice, we must not act without responsibility.

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Farthest Shore

Friday Ramble - Mabon, the Autumn Equinox

The autumn equinox is often observed on September 21st, but the astronomical coordinate this time around is tomorrow, September 23rd, and the observance begins at sundown this evening.

Whatever day we choose to observe it (or not observe it), the fall equinox is a pivotal cosmic hinge, and it has worn many names down the centuries: Mabon, Harvest Home, Second Harvest, the Feast of Ingathering and Alban Elfed, to name just a few. Mabon is the most common name of the bunch on this side of the Atlantic, perhaps rooted in the god's status as the male fertilizing principle in Welsh mythology. Ceres, Demeter, John Barleycorn, Lugh or Persephone are other fine contenders for a tutelary deity presiding over autumn harvest rites, but I am fond of the "Great Son" of the Mabinogion, sometimes thought to be a companion of Arthur's Round Table.

In the old Teutonic calendar, the autumn equinox marked the beginning of the Winter Finding, a ceremonial interval lasting until Winter Night on October 15, also the date of the old Norse New Year. For moderns, the date marks the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. In Christian tradition, the day is associated with St. Michael the Archangel—his feast takes place a few days from now on September 25 and is known (for obvious reasons) as Michaelmas. The autumn blooming Michaelmas daisy with its purple petals and golden heart is one of my favorite wildflowers. South of the equator, seasonal cycles are reversed, and the vernal equinox is approaching (Ostara).

The autumn equinox is about abundance and harvest, but most of all, it is about balance and equilibrium—it is one of two astronomical coordinates in the whole year when day and night are perfectly balanced in length for a brief interval. Like all the old festivals dedicated to Mother Earth, it is a liminal or threshold time, for we are poised between two seasons, summer and autumn.

One holds out hopeful thoughts for the autumn equinox, that skies overhead will be brilliantly blue and full of singing geese by day, that trees and vines and creepers will be arrayed in crimson and cinnamon and burnished bronze, that a splendid golden moon will be visible against a blanket of stars by night.

An autumn wreath graces our door, and pots of chrysanthemums grace the threshold. Sometimes the pots are adorned by leaves falling from the old oak nearby. The tree is our guardian, the wreath and "mums" a nod to the season and a tribute of sorts. Oak, fallen leaves, wreath and blooms are cheerful things, conveying a benediction on anyone who knocks at the door or passes by in the street.

Autumn images tug at my heart, and I always sort through sheaves and reams of archived images looking for just the right one for today, am never sure I have found it. Leaves, puddles, clouds, sunlight, geese, herons??? Whatever I choose, it's always about the light, and autumn light is fabulous.

However, and whenever you choose to celebrate the occasion, a very happy Autumn Equinox, Harvest Home, or Mabon. May good things come to you.

Friday Ramble Before the Vernal Equinox (Ostara)

The day after tomorrow marks the Vernal Equinox or Ostara, one of two times in the calendar year (the other being the Autumn Equinox or Mabon) when the Earth and her unruly children hover in perfect balance for a brief interval. Humans had nothing to do with this day - it is a pivotal astronomic point ordained by the heavens, by the natural order of things in this magnificent cosmos where we live out our days, spinning like tops in the Great Round of space and time.

If I lived further south, Sunday might be a day of greening and enchantment, a day when Eostre, the old Teutonic goddess of greening and fertility, wanders wild places with her arms full of spring blooms, bestowing blessings on everything she sees. Flowers would spring up in her footsteps as she passed, and she would be attended by hares, her special animal. The air would be filled with birdsong, with homecoming geese and the heady fragrance of rich dark earth and wild springtime herbs. 

Alas, the only snowdrops blooming here at the moment are those in a jar in my study. There is still a lot of snow about, and it will be a few weeks until the delicate flowers show up in the landscape, each and every one a small miracle. It has been a long winter this time around, and Eostre can't show up too soon for me. Our winter birds feel the same. Every feathered visitor to the still sleeping garden seems to be declaring its lofty status as a messenger from the sacred, a harbinger of abundance and new life.

While I was outside yesterday morning shoveling snow, the first skein of returning Canada geese flew overhead, honking their pleasure at being home again. I put down my shovel and danced for joy, and the neighbors must have thought I was off my nut. At nightfall, Beau and I went outside into the garden for a few minutes, and as we shivered in the star spangled darkness, it seemed to us that this month's waxing moon resembles a great cosmic egg - a perfect expression of this turning of the wheel with its verdant motifs of warmth, light and new life coming into being.

There is blooming in our thoughts for sure, but it is still too cold here for outdoor celebrations. Beau and I will spend time outside in the garden on Sunday evening, and we will light a votive candle on the deck if the north wind permits it, but our festivities are indoors for the most part. There is room for everyone at our hearth and there are enough mugs, plates and comfortable chairs to go around. Welcome, and come ye in!