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Autumn, Autumn, approaching at last. Not that I haven’t loved the heady, green-lush summer and it’s dappled sun and shade, and I will miss it when it’s time is done. But now the changewinds are blowing, carrying the first spice-scent of drying leaves and a bit of chill in the quickening evenings.

Last year it was hot well into October, but this year the shift of season has begun early, in mid September, and as the Equinox comes upon us the old stirrings for Autumn tide and Autumn magics start to resurface. Lenses slip into focus as others fade to blurs, certain doors open as others creak slowly closed. Autumn is one of the border-times, of course, and so the ways and places of passage hum softly now with that tone that the ear attuned for it can hear.

The leaves haven’t begun to turn yet, and no frost will be upon the ground for another month, but already an insistent voice strengthens – hurry, hurry, there are things to be done!

We have had rain of late. Rain at last after a dry summer, a drizzling mist, and fog in the mornings.

One night last week I walked home across town, first through Campus, then wound my way across several residential neighborhoods. It had been overcast and drizzling rain all day, and as I walked I ran my hands along dew-beaded hedges and licked the water from my fingers, rubbed it on my forehead and hands.

Along my route lay a local park, lined by a few old trees along a well traveled street. It’s not a secret-looking pace, nor large. There are tennis courts, a ball diamond, concrete paths. And yet there is some sort of power there.

I could sense it breathing out from the cool darkness among the trees that night as I walked. It reminded me of the time when, riding with the Hunt last Yule, I’d been drawn here. I shivered with anticipation at the wet woodsy smells that hung in the air, at the sound of the night breeze through rustling leaves, and I longed to run – swept up with the skirling Hunt, teeth bared and tongue lolling from long jaws, a rush of wind and darkness mixed with the distant sound of horns…

Oh, we will see what new workings and obligations come with the witching-tide. Hurry, hurry, there are things to be done!

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