I take my coffee black. A bitter brew to shock me awake and remind me that the heart of the day is upon me. I prefer the in-between times, like dawn and dusk. I blame the Moon and Neptune for all of this. And by blame, you know that of course I mean love. I can feel them stalking me. Those bird women of the dark season. Even as the last remnants of late summer’s heat can still be felt during the afternoons. Gathering like the swallows on a wire and discussing how to clear out the emptiness from hearts that have basked in the light and now need replenished with rest and bone broth. They are making their plans even as we all still drink nectar from the last of the flowers. A part of me is not ready to leave this place. I consider hiding in the swamp with the spider I’ve befriended, while knowing that is actually impossible and will only end in grief. And another part of me, a deep and ashen part, is ready to let go. Because I am tired. And because I adore this season with all my heart and so she consumes me. It’s like how we fall in love. Everything rushing together, not sleeping nearly enough, being intoxicated on one another and exhausted. Perhaps this is why there are seasons. In order to slowly recover ourselves and remember who we are. So, welcome dear September. You are the hedge month. A crossroad to the staircase in the dark. Autumn’s threshold to those parts of us that need tending.
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