Samhain Winter Moon
They leave. This is the time. Lois, our cleaning lady, poked her head in and said, “Good-bye. See you in April.” Mark and Elizabeth leave on the 29th for Grass Valley in California. Many others are already gone to Florida or Arizona or New Mexico or Mexico.
We call them snowbirds, though it should be nosnowbirds, since they fly away at dropping temperatures and clouds of frozen moisture. The reasons they go are diverse, I imagine, but cluster around icy roads, slick sidewalks, the uninviting nature of cold air for being outside.
It makes sense. At a certain age, one I’ve reached, driving on roads and navigating sidewalks slick with ice and polished snow can be scary. To get outside requires more thought in dress and more intention. Just going out for a stroll can mean preparation. There is, too, the lure of a different place. The beaches of Florida, the culture of the Southwest and Mexico. A way to break up the year, give it a punctuation when work no longer provides it.
Still. I love the snow, the cold, the quiet, the coming of the inside season. The holiseason makes a good deal more intuitive sense with distinct seasonal changes, seasonal changes I find crucial to my own spiritual practice. Putting the garden to bed, letting it rest for a season plus also feels right to me. I would not want to continue my gardening season past the end of September, early October.
No. We’ll stay. Here. In Andover.
