Growing up in Wisconsin, I always kinda took the turning of the seasons for granted. There were distinct differences between one season and the next. Autumn was always my favorite time of year, the end of working in the huge farm garden and the beginning of a new school year were all closely associated with Autumn for me. The crisp feel and smell of the morning air, and the beauty of the landscape always made me feel as if this was the most magickal time of the year, followed closely by winter.

I remember the vibrant colors of the Maple, Oak (both red and white), Elm, and Linden trees, especially the Maples. The landscape was a cacophony of color and I remember thinking some magickal painter had splashed the landscape with reds, yellows, violets, and oranges; so many hues, I could scarcely take it all in without loosing my breath.

Later in the season I was able to see past the brilliance of the trees and the  rich earthy scent of the freshly turned fields and the fallen leaves on the woodland floor would catch my attention and bring me to a secret place of adventure while I rode my horse or hunted Squirrel and rabbits with my brother. This was our time it was when we could be best friends and no one had to know we actually liked each other.

When I reached high school this became the time when my friends and I went to football games and experimented with drinking brandy and beer or learned what it was like to share our first kiss with the boy or girl crush of the time.

This is what I think of when I think of the Autumn Equinox, and yet I’ve lived in southeastern Arizona for longer than I lived in Wisconsin. Our family left right after I graduated high school in 1985. This year I decided to really look around my world and see or feel what the Equinox means to me in the High Desert of Arizona.

This is what I’ve discovered in my contemplation today. There is no vibrant color change in the trees; not much in the way of reds, oranges, or violets, later there will be some yellows and then bare trees. There is no smell of musty earth, but the mornings are crisp and you can smell Autumn on the air. In the High Desert, especially along the San Pedro River, often the mornings will be heavy with fog and there will be an air of mystery and magic.

Today for the first time I really noticed the full seeds on the grasses that have grown all summer in the desert, and I heard the sound the drying blades and seed made as the wind rustled through them and I understood it is time to find balance in my life. After all this is the Equinox, the second time this year where we will experience equal amounts of night and day. Having recently quit my day job and refocused my energy on Madame Molly’s I wondered; is the seeds I planted this last Spring would be sufficient to nourish the business and sustain it through the winter and on to next Spring when I can replant the seeds left over from this harvest.

While you are celebrating the seasonal change in your own way today, I hope you will find that the seeds (both real and symbolic) that you planted last Spring and tended through the Summer have provided you with a bountiful harvest this Autumn. I also hope you take this time to reflect on the areas of your life where you have either created balance or need to find equilibrium.

Have a Wicked Good Day!

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