Category Archives: Weather +Climate

Evergreen, Pine, and Conifer

Winter and the Moon of the New Year

Christmastide, Day 9: Evergreen Day

Sunday gratefuls: Coffee. Cold coffee. The Denver Post. All print newspapers still at it. An informed citizenry. Trump, for exposing our weakness. 17 days. Buh, bye orange one. 2021. 2020 in the rear view.  Tara. Marilyn. Rabbi Jamie. Lobster and ribeye.

Vega in the snow

Once again. Pine, Conifer, Evergreen. This is our day in Christmastide. This day and the Snow day have no festivals associated with them, so we celebrate aspects of midwinter that bring us joy.

Matthews cites an interesting Cherokee story about the origin of the evergreen. The Great Spirit created plants and wanted to give them each a special gift, but could not decide which gift would go to which plants.

Second and third year cones. Cones have a lot of resin.

Among the trees, the Great Spirit decided on a contest. He asked all of the trees to keep watch over creation for seven days. After the first night, all the trees remained awake, excited at the opportunity. On the second night some fell asleep, but woke right back up.

As the nights went on, most of the trees began to fall asleep, unable to stay alert for so long. By the seventh day, all but the pine, the cedar, the spruce, the holly, and the laurel had fallen asleep.

“To you,” the Great Spirit said, “I shall give the gift of remaining green forever. You shall guard the forest even in the winter when all your brothers and sisters are sleeping.” And so they do to this day.

At our elevation the Lodgepole guard the Aspen whose golden leaves in the fall proceed their winter sleep. At lower elevations the Ponderosa, the Spruce stand guard. At the treeline ancient Bristlecone Pines patrol. In other parts of Colorado the Douglas Fir, the Engleman Spruce, the Pinon Pine, the Rocky Mountain Juniper, and the White Fir watch. The Great Spirit reminds us each Winter of the Evergreens special gift.

Here is a special Solstice salutation from Italy’s sixteenth century:

 

I salute you!

There is nothing I can give you which

You have not.

But there is much, that while I cannot give,

You can take.

No heaven can come to us, unless our hearts find

Rest in it today.

Take Heaven!

No peace lies in the future which is not

Hidden in this present instant.

Take Peace!

The gloom of the world is but a shadow.

Behind it, within our reach, is joy.

Take joy!

And so at this Christmastime, I greet you,

With the prayer that for you, now and forever,

The day breaks, and the shadows flee away!

Matthews, p. 200

Let It Snow

Winter and the Moon of the New Year

Christmastide Day 8: Snow Day

Saturday gratefuls: Rigel’s sleeping habits. Keps. Mine. Kate’s. All different. Dogs to feed. Humans to feed. The night Sky. The International Space Station speeding past Ursa Major this morning. The waning full moon. Sleeping through the night. Amazing. Writing, back to Jennie’s Dead. A new schedule. Working. Ribeye and Lobster, today. Held over.

 

April 2016 Shadow Mountain

Remember Frau Hulda, aka Mother Christmas, from Day 2? Also called Frau Holle in Germany. Midwinter Snows are the feathers shaken from her bedspread. We’ve still got a few feathers on the ground here.

Today we celebrate Snow.

Got into Jack London as a boy. Read Call of the Wild and fell hard for his descriptions of the North. Remember Buck? I fantasized about Pine Trees, Lakes, Dog sledding, and, Snow. Snow that lasted. Snow that did not turn into the slushy melt of Indiana Januaries. Winter as a real season, not a sometimes cold, sometimes chilly, sometimes wet, sometimes icy season.

We had family vacations that took us to Stratford, Ontario for the Shakespeare Festival on the banks of the Avon. Our journey often took us to the MS Norgoma ferry from Tober Mory, Ontario, across the Georgian Bay of Lake Huron and onto Manitoulin Island.

In Stratford we camped in the Ipperswich Provincial Park, also on Lake Huron. Those travels plus Jack London’s novels put living among Pine Trees and Lakes as a stronger desire than I realized while the impressions formed.

2012, Andover

As an adult, when I got the chance, I moved to Wisconsin, Appleton, and from there on to Minneapolis/St. Paul. I lived in the north for over 40 years, a place Jack London and Lake Huron had taught me to love.

The Winters were real. That first Winter in Appleton the temperature dropped to well below zero for a full week and we got a foot of Snow over one weekend. I discovered engine block heaters and knew folks that took their batteries out at night and brought them inside. This was 1969.

Minnesota is cold. It Snows, yes, but the big difference there is that the snow sticks around. The temperatures remain well below freezing for weeks, months. And the Sun hangs low in the Sky. When the Winds howl and the Snow blows, it can, as friend Tom Crane observed, blot out all the boundaries: fences disappear, roads, roofs, front yards and back yards.

January, 2015. Shadow Mountain

After our move to Colorado, we’ve experienced a different Winter. On Shadow Mountain, the second Winter we were here, 2016, 220 inches of Snow fell, four feet in one storm. Minnesota typically gets between 40 and 50 inches.

But. After the Snow in the Mountains, we get warmer weather. Often, a Snow fall, no matter how big, disappears in less than a week. The Solar Snow Shovel. The Sun’s angle is a bit higher than Minnesota and we’re a good bit higher at 8,800 feet. Colorado’s blue Skies mean we get a lot of Sun shine even in the deepest midwinter. This is the arid West. Humidity outside today is 19.

What’s your Snow story? Today’s a good day to go out and play in the Snow if you have some. Perhaps a Snowball fight. A Snowman. Skiing. Snowshoes. A hike.

Tomorrow: Evergreen Day.

Debates. From first principles.

Samain and the Moon of the New Year (2021!)

Tuesday gratefuls: VRCC. Doggy care at a high level. Dr. Timian, Rigel’s doc when she was hospitalized. Rigel. Amber. And, Amber’s special bandages. Ruby and her heated seats. A now gone, happily, feeling of illness. Diane, from her sanctuary in San Francisco. The hermitage here on Shadow Mountain. Fresh Snow. A plowed driveway. Feelings, low, lower. Comfort in the loft. Games Kate and Charlie play. A raw version of life, hard and relentless. A joyful version: committed, cheerful, resilient. Fluctuating between them. 36 days.

 

When conservative columnists like George Will and Michael Gerson write provocative columns skewering Republicans and fellow conservatives (see this by Gerson, The moral hypocrisy of conservative leaders is stunning, as an example) and a politician like George Romney condemns the administration, next year’s trajectory becomes clearer. At its optimum liberals, radicals (I don’t like progressive. It hides.), and conservatives will all examine themselves beginning with first principles.

The conservatives, right now anyhow, seem to have the most honest dialogue started. May it continue. Liberals will have to admit that their “desire to govern” will gut meaningful change in at least three important areas: racial justice, radical police reform, and addressing economic inequities. Radicals will have to admit that their insistence in all or nothing too often, usually, results in nothing.

Of course, Covid must get our full attention until it abates, but that shouldn’t stop us from going into our respective camps and chewing the fat over a miserable four years of the American Experience. What about liberal leadership, policies, general stances, left the door open for a Trump? What needs refocusing? Especially following a decidedly liberal, world hailed Presidency, like Barack Obama’s.

I have three areas where liberalism has failed. The lackluster and Republican conceived medical system fix, Obamacare, or the ACA, did not fix or even mend a broken system. Yes, it delivered health insurance to some folks who needed it, but that’s a very low bar when you consider the mess of the public/private chaos we insist on calling a system. If you’ve had any frequent dealings with it, you’ll know the financial, bureaucratic, and logical hurdles required to get care. Not smart enough to know if Medicare for All is the solution, but I know that whatever we do must look more like a National Health Service than a cafeteria of options whose costs and efficacy we can’t determine.

How do we keep the public safe? The whole public, not just middle and upper middle class white neighborhoods. (The upper classes build walls and hire their own private security.) This is a debate that must be radical in its starting point. Bracket police. What do complex urban societies need to investigate and prosecute crime? To stop criminal activity while it’s happening? To attend well to mental health crises and in-home medical emergencies? To keep buildings safe from fire? To manage traffic, large events, disasters? Let’s put all solutions on the table from crazy dreamy to harsh and pragmatic ones. We need to rethink community safety and how to achieve it.

Economic inequities. A Green New Deal? OK, by me. Job retraining. Earned income tax credits? Guaranteed annual income? Reparations. A truly progressive tax code. Tax the wealthy at a level closer to the 1950’s and 1960’s. Put in place a reasonable inheritance tax to ensure against aristocratic pretensions. Rethink the value of work and workers. Shore up the union movement. Give employers incentive to hire under and inexperienced workers. Perhaps their first year or half year of salary could be subsidized.

We must have these debates. Conservatives, liberals, and radicals must gather among themselves and debate them. There must be a public dialogue. I use the word must. Why? Because these are core issues which speak to the safety and security of all Americans.

Are there other important issues? Oh, yes. Climate change. Foreign policy. Infrastructure development. To name three. And, yes, debates about these must go forward, and quickly, too.

There is much democratic work to be done. And much tin-pot dictator work to be undone. I see Trump’s time in office as a cry for help from a country in which certain bedrock matters like health, safety, and work have all been damaged by years of neglect and false promises. Let’s pay attention. Let’s insure neglect and false promises are not part of agenda. Beginning now.

Health

Samain and the Thanksgiving Moon

Friday gratefuls: Radiation injury to my sigmoid. Dr. Evans. Becki and Pam, nurses at Arapahoe Endoscopy. Freddy’s hamburgers. Seat heaters. Money, more money, from oil. So strange. Mary’s efforts in this regard. Mark getting oil money from the U.S. in the sands of Araby. Kate. Cribbage. Bicycle playing cards. I know, but I’m putting it here anyhow, Amazon. Tony’s. Safeway pickup. Snow. Cold. Christmas and Hanukkah. And, Winter Solstice and Yule. 40 days!! Easy entrees.

 

And, the inner truth I sought is: radiation injury to my sigmoid colon. Sigh. The odds have not been in my favor. Even though they were low in both cases I ended up with urgency incontinence and radiation proctopathy. This last diagnosed yesterday via sigmoidoscopy. In my case, bleeding is the primary symptom. And not too bad. Mild. May disappear. May come and go for the rest of my life. These two are preferable to death. Not pleasant, but not life changing either. I can deal.

I did stop taking the incontinence med, mirabegron. It raised my heart rate during exercise and increased my resting heart rate. Affecting my overall fitness negatively. Not ok with me. We’re in a period of time when many cancers have a less threatening prognosis, prostate cancer among them. Yeah. The treatments that can cure them or turn them into chronic conditions though. Sometimes. Boo. Not in their direct results, holding the cancer at bay or killing it. But in the unintended effects like I’m experiencing.

Even so. Terminal illness versus manageable condition? No contest which I choose. Because of this, and because I know the source of these symptoms, I’d choose the treatments again. Every time. Even knowing.

Snow today. Colder. Looking more like December. May it continue.

Anti-maskers. Anti-vaxxers. You’re the bad ones, Mr. Grinch. Anti-election results lawyers. Anti-election states. You’re the bad ones, Mr. Grinch. Say it out loud. You’re the bad ones. We may have to navigate around you, but we will pass you by, leaving the Covid wards, the measles epidemics, authoritarianism in its all too many forms to your blinkered selves. Hope you decide to catch up, reform, revisit your thoughtless, seditious views. But, if not. Hey, hell’s better with company, right?

A busier than I like it week. A bit odd since this is the time of Covid and Kate doesn’t go out except for a doctor. Oh. Well.

Looking from the Mountaintop. Black Mountain lost in a white haze, a light Snow falling. The Lodgepoles and the Aspens welcoming the moisture. Me, too.

Iran. The Supremes.

Samain and the almost full Moon of Thanksgiving

Saturday gratefuls: Sleep. A two hour nap yesterday. Peak TV. That beautiful Thanksgiving Moon. The stars this morning. Black Mountain. All the family and friend connections made and reaffirmed (while spreading Covid.) Pictures of Trump walking away. Political perspectives. Differing. The flag. Other symbols of our nation. BLM. AOC. CDC. The Rocky Mountains. The Laramide orogeny. Plate tectonics. Super Novas. The origin of life. The miracle of life. Death. Yes, it’s a miracle, too.

 

Checking on the idiot is coming to a close. I hope. What happened to his promise to leave the country if he lost? I know. I know. Power. How he handles his smaller monarchy, reigning over GOPland, may have a lot to do with how our country moves forward. If he insists on demagogic rhetoric delivered to thousands of unmasked adoring subjects, without pause, we may be in for a bad four years. 2024? Oh, god no. Let’s hope as a Christmas present to his fellow gutter Christians he decides to focus on building towers in Wuhan.

Iran’s top nuclear scientist killed by gun. Live by the bomb, die by the gun. Assassination. A dangerous implement for a state. When one seeks revenge, first dig two graves. Middle East volatility. Problematic since the end of the Ottoman empire and its continuance insured by the long war against terror. If this is Israel trying to provoke even more direct action against Iran by the orange excrescence, OMG. A full out war between our ally Israel and its powerful enemy, Iran, could push us into a war. Of course we would and should side with Israel, even if it is the provocateur, but… Glad our boy is headed to Hawai’i.

Not sure what a war would mean for Saudi Arabia where brother Mark teaches. Riyadh. Iran and Saudi Arabia are toe-to-toe enemies, too. With only the Persian Gulf separating them. And the o.e. has sold Saudi Arabia many sophisticated weapons. The lame duckness of a defeated President may be more like a game of Angry Birds. What can he do in the waning days of his administration? Plenty. Watch out.

That Supreme Court ruling against New York’s restrictions on churches, synagogues, mosques, and other religious gathering places? Hmmm. I’m torn. Should religious freedom trump public health? The ideal would be a situation in which religious leaders, and their faithful, say, oh, we don’t want to die in large numbers, so let’s follow the recommendations of scientists. And, science itself.

The question is, can a government, any government, constrain people from gathering to worship in the fashion they prefer? I can follow the reasoning that says this is such a basic right under our constitution that the answer must be no. I would not want a similar prohibition on the right to assemble, for example.

Yet. The prohibitions in question did relate to all religions, so nothing there about government picking religious sides. The danger is obvious. And, may not exist for much longer. Why not equivocate, or just not rule? Why not err on the side of public safety? The government’s most significant role, it seems to me, insures just that.

Many other unhappy ruling will surely come. His legacy. The o.e. and Moscow Mitch. Makes our work harder, but that much more important.

Day has come. The sun lights up the peak of Black Mountain and highlights the five ski runs built by a friend of my former doctor. Yes, you can own mountains. No, you shouldn’t be able to. But, then… Our house? Life’s complicated.

On the flipside.

Joy, Joy, Joy Deep in My Heart

Samain and the Moon of Radical Change

Monday gratefuls: 20 degrees. Some snow on the ground. A marathoner kicking past the house around 6:30 a.m. Training. A Trumpless Whitehouse. The Denver Post delivered. Those ribs from Easy Entrees. Kate’s scallops. The Johnson girls. As they get older. Their sis zoom bar. The Ancient Ones, with Alan added. That strong feeling I get now when I get in the kitchen. I’m a cook. The epitome of androgyny Kate said last night. A compliment in my eyes.

Meme: You know why your candidate lost? You didn’t put enough flags on your truck. Ha.

One thing I keep wanting to do and haven’t gotten around to: figure out how to display an American flag regularly. I don’t want the Gadsden flag crew and their Confederate battle flag allies to continue having exclusive rights. Displaying a flag does not make you a patriot, but its display almost exclusively by the right wing sends that message. The way to reclaim it for all America is for those of on the left, and liberals, too, to fly it. No, I’m not attaching twin gigundos to the back of Ruby. Not even an American flag decal. But, on the property here. Yes. I’ll figure it out. Maybe you will, too.

I will be ready for the post-election critiques. I will. But not just yet. I want to roll in the hay we made last week. Dive into it from the upper deck of the hay mow. Disappear in it, swimming through the hay like a happy, happy fish. That hay mow smell, that’s America, the old America, the one I grew up in.

The farm. Many of us had one in our family because many families created by WWII vets had farmers in their family. The farm in our family was just outside Morristown, Indiana. Family lore has it that Grandpa won it on a bet at the horse track. Its believable, he was that sorta guy, but I do not know the truth of it. Riley, the only boy out of my Mom’s four sibs, ended up living on the farm. I don’t know the story behind how that happened. Many summers I would spend a week or so there along with some time in town with my Grandma, Mabel.

Lots of good memories. The smell of cedar. The old artesian well that kept the milk cans cool for collection. The moss on it and the damp darkness of its shed. The corn crib with its shucked ears of feed corn. And, the hay mow. Of course, this was all a really long time ago. 60 plus years for some of the memories, but they feel current, alive. Just down the gravel road back toward town, after a bend in the road, is Hancock cemetery. Many of my Keaton relatives, including Uncle Riley and Aunt Virginia, Grandma and Grandpa, Aunt Barbara and several others are buried there. Richard, my first cousin, now lives on the farm, and, like Uncle Riley, is the main caretaker for the cemetery. Small town, rural roots. Me.

Those were good times, but of course they had their darkness. As does this election. This is not the time for either. Now is the time for connecting today with yesterday and through that lens seeing tomorrow. Enjoy the victory. I sure am.

Oh, I See

Fall and the Moon of Radical Change

Sunday gratefuls: Snow. 8 degrees. More Snow, more Cold drooping down from the north, screaming in later from the west. Rigel and Kep. Kate. Our dialogue about doing things together. A warmer day yesterday. Happy Camper. Safeway. Ruby.

A light Snow, crystalline, falls outside. The temperature has dropped to 6 degrees. We are in a belt, once again, that could get up to 12-14 inches. Any amount of Snow and cold comes as a relief, not only here on Shadow Mountain, but also for those affected by the East Troublesome Fire and the Cameron Fire, well north of us, up in the Rocky Mountain National Park part of the state. I hope it’s enough to douse them, or at least bring them under control.

My favorite coffee mug has the Polar Express on it. I got it when Kate and I took then 7 year old grandson Gabe to an evening on board a Christmas train. He remarked, “We don’t celebrate this!” and huffed at the whole production. I got mad. Couldn’t he back off and enjoy the elves coming through with hot chocolate? Nope.

Gabe is not an observant Jew, even now several years later at the age of 12. But, he held fast that night. I admire it. I can say that now, but then, I thought, you ungrateful little killjoy!

You see this coming, right? What was really going on there? I loved Christmas. I loved the Polar Express. I did not associate it with Christianity by that point, but Gabe certainly did. Christmas is the great temptation for Hanukkah kids. Partly why Jewish children do so well at Hanukkah these days in terms of presents. Look! We have 8 days, they only have one night.

Not Christmas. Nope, Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel. Not Silent Night. No Christmas Tree. No Santa Claus. No The Night Before Christmas. A clear demarcation line between them and us. Kate and I that night were them. Gabe defended his faith and his culture. Again, good for him.

Fast forward to a Hanukkah at our house a year or so later. My knee replacement had just happened. I was home but medicated, morphine. Big pain.

As Ruth and Gabe went through the stack of presents on the coffee table, I was hit with a sudden wave of despair. What was I doing here? Why was I celebrating Hanukkah? I’m a Christmas guy. How did I let myself get into this?

The same kind of holiday dysphoria, I think, that Gabe experienced on the Polar Express. Huh. What goes around, comes around.

Since that moment, which passed as the morphine went away and the knee healed, I’ve realized the exasperated finger needed to point back at myself. Both incidents indicated a deep longing, a childhood longing, for a holiday I knew as mine.

I love Santa Claus, twinkling lights, hot chocolate, candy canes. And, yes, the Christmas Tree. I don’t love the hassle of the Christmas Tree or the materialistic orgy. No. That was easy to leave behind. What are the presents for anyhow? Proof of love? What kid needs that? Or, at least, what kid should need that?

The whole mishmash of mistaking parental love for the giving of gifts let me walk away from Christmas. Kate helped of course because she got tired of decorating MY Christmas Tree. Can’t blame her for that.

I don’t need the whole crass side of Christmas. Neither do you, I imagine. Maybe nobody does.

But. Boy, do I need the songs and the lights and all that stuff about Santa and the North Pole. And, the Tree. This year I’m going to pick a Lodgepole in our yard as my Christmas Tree. No, I’ll not cut it down. Maybe I’ll find a living Evergreen Tree to have inside, a small one.

Its that Evergreen connection that makes religious sense. Evergreen, a resurrected God. See? I’ll continue this, but I want to post now, so I can get breakfast before my time with the ancient ones.

Colorado

Fall and the Moon of Radical Change

Thursday gratefuls: Kate’s stoma site looking good. Rigel off antibiotics. Her gut can relax. Rigel early in the morning, barking as loud as she can. Why? Oh, why. No idea. Mac and cheese with ham. Comfort food. The East Troublesome Fire. The Cameron Fire. The Calwood Fire. Reminding us that climate change is real and not tomorrow.

Wildfires are us. The West is burning. Precipitation blocked by warming oceans. Trees dried by low humidity, killed by pine bark Beetles. Grasses squeezed dry, lying ready for ignition. Rabbi Jamie’s home in Granby. The East Troublesome Fire. Evacuated. He posted pictures on Facebook. Scary.

Clouds this morning red from the Wildfire refracted Sun. We have moisture on the way. Hope it comes in time to wet down our Very High fire hazards. The National Forest Service closed the Arapho National Forest, the one in which we live, citing dry Trees and strained fire-fighting resources. This means no Denverites, no other out-of-towners at Lower and Upper Maxwell Falls. Well, it means there should be none.

Speaking of Colorado. Here’s a video from near Telluride.

Could have been worse. Think if the Jeep with the camera was a tiny bit further along on the trail. The woman who drove the falling Jeep is in a Grand Junction hospital with serious injuries. She bailed just before it went over.

Then, too. An election is coming. Like Winter. Did I say vote? Vote. Vote. Vote. Vote. Vote.

Minding the Gap

Fall and the RBG Moon

Saturday gratefuls: Two ayes for two eyes. Clearer, some fuzziness. Supposed to go away. Easy to read computer screen. No pain. Tony’s. The clerks at Tony’s. Kate’s wrist improving. This mythic sky. Fall. Courage. Sadness. Springtime for inner work. The days and nights of the year’s last half. The harvest. The rut.

Come into me, spirit of Fall. As I drove down Shadow Mountain yesterday, the golden glory of autumn Aspens against the evergreen Lodgepoles, all on soaring Mountain sides, this prayer came, unbidden. Soon my hand moved in a waving motion, like the sageing rituals of the Lakota, wafting the vision of Fall I could see into my heart, into my soul.

Judaism emphasizes kavanah in prayer. Intention. I wondered, what is the intention of this prayer? Why has it come to me?

Minding the gap. That’s the intention, I understood this suddenly, too. The gap between my self-understanding as a distinct and separate living being and the World outside my car window. It is a false understanding, made to appear real by the mind we carry and the body that is its vehicle. I am part of the Fall, part of its courage and sadness. Part of its springtime for Soul work.

The Great Wheel turns. We live through its Seasons. Its Seasons live through us. Invite the Season into your body, into your Soul. Live within it, not as an observer only.

Then. The Mountains. What do they mean? Strong. Hard. Tall. Shansin make me strong, hard, and tall like Black Mountain, like Shadow Mountain, like Conifer Mountain. Raise the mountain in me, let it support and define me.

Then. The Aspens. Make me aware of the living links I have with friends and family. Like the Aspen Grove. Interleaved. Sharing nutrients and knowledge and warnings. Then, no, not like the Aspen Grove, as the Aspen Grove. Help me feel the rootlets of these Aspen, these Lodgepole supporting me, feeding me, making me aware of what’s coming.

Why these prayers, these meditations, came to me, I can’t say. They were powerful and sank into me, radiated back out of me. I was one with the Fall. One with the Mountains. One with the Aspen Groves.

The Great Wheel has within it the learnings we need. And, apparently, will grace us with them when we need them. Blessed be.

Springtime of the Soul

Fall and the RBG Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: Thoracentesis. Valet who got our car from a distant garage. The imaging employee who found an unused machine for Kate’s catscan. Phase two of the three stage plan done. Remembering to take out the blue foam. Clear vision. Michaelmas yesterday. Cool morning.

Michaelmas. The Saint’s Day of the Archangel Michael, he of Lucifer ejecting mythic fame. God’s great warrior. Also the name of the first term in British colleges and universities.

But best of all, the springtime of the soul. Rudolf Steiner. The growing season has finished. The external world had its glorious moment at the Fall Equinox, the celebration of the harvest. The body will be fed.

We turn our attention inward after Michaelmas. The nights grow longer, the angle of the sun shortens, and the days grow cold. Courage and sadness. A touch of melancholy encouraged.

When we drove down the hill yesterday, golden leaved Aspens had burst out among the Lodgepole Pine green. Framed by a typical clear blue Colorado sky the beauty made me gasp.

The beauty, the chill in the air. We know its brevity, like the beauty of the young. Those Aspen speak from the sides of Black Mountain, Conifer Mountain, Shadow Mountain. We are done now. Good bye. See you on the flip side. Their golden glamor a farewell to summer.

We know it. Many falls. The outrageous, over the top color of a Midwestern fall. The remnant of the Big Forest, the one that stretched from the east Coast to the Plains. Before the modern era a squirrel could travel tree to tree from the Atlantic to the Great Plains without ever touching the ground. So much melancholy in those colors, the abstract landscapes of a vivisectioned ecosystem.

Piles of Leaves in the yard, on the Forest floor. Running, jumping, landing in the piles. Dogs racing into them, through them. Do you remember, as I do, burning Leaves in the street? An acrid smell combining with earthy wetness. A strong seasonal memory.

One day soon Winds driven by the Cold slumping down from the Arctic will strip them all, Maple, Oak, Ironwood, Elm, Ash, Locust, Hickory, Sycamore, dislodge their Leaves and the tree naked against the coming winter. The Aspen gold rush will disappear and only the ghostly gray-white of their Trunks and Branches will remain.

A woman I learned ritual craft from thought this denuding of the deciduous Trees might explain Samain and the Celtic belief that the veil thinned between this world and the next during the transition.

Kate’s sister Sarah married Jeremiah Miller. A painter. Before I met her, Kate bought two of his very large paintings. One hangs in our bedroom. In it the Sky is a gunmetal blue and its complement of cumulus Clouds show as reflections in a Pond. Both Sky and Pond show through a Forest of bare Trunks and Branches, a before Winter comes scene we see all year.

This turn of the Great Wheel follows the gradual waning of the Light until the longest Night, the Winter Solstice. What better time for introspection, for the Soul to rise?

May this season of the Soul’s Springtime give you what you need for the next months and years of your journey, your ancientrail.