Lughnasa Waning Harvest Moon
Vega returned home. Kona let all the dogs inside (her major outdoor trick) and Vega walked into our bedroom where I had laid down for a bit. When I got up to see if Rigel had come home with her, she apparently got up on the bed because I found many burrs and stickers deposited on my side of the bed.
Rigel is still out there, somewhere.
Until she comes home or we decide to try and find her an alternate way, I won’t take Vega out to discover their escape hatch. I want Rigel to use it to come home. There’s probably a subtle psychological truth in that, but I’ll leave it to you to discern.
On another note, this is a holiday, a holiday of ending. Labor Day, aside from its apparent purpose, has acquired a status, at least here in the northern US, as the end of summer. This comes not only from the meteorological changes, September 1st is the end of meteorological summer, but also the return of kids to school. Here in Minnesota people go up to their lake cabins to shut them up for the winter and the whole atmosphere becomes one of back to work, time to get serious again.
As a holiday, it has a certain numinosity, a feeling of difference, of quiet, of peaceful. Today I have a sense of lassitude, a languor. That’s partly from the intense work of the last week in researching and writing Roots of Liberalism and partly my body’s response to holidayness, perhaps you could call it its holiness, a time set apart, different from all other days.
Waiting for Rigel.
