The Call of Samhain

To walk in the woods is to walk in a rainbow. There’s a wildness in the air, a sense of mischief and mystery. As the October winds sweep the remaining leaves from the trees they swirl around in a last dance of triumph, their job done. Now to rest. With a flourish of blood red, golden yellow and tawny browns they carpet the woodland, a sea of crisp chaos, covering the earth, waiting to be recycled into next season’s bounty.

The mighty oak shuts his eyes, his roots cling tightly to terra firma as the gales press in from the writhing seas. Time to close. Countless thousands of tiny creatures rest within the deep fissures of his bark. Trusting him to hold them safe as they all slumber through the season of chance.

Decay and death approach, life dances around the edges once more. Crows love this time. They clamour through the thermals, flinging themselves to the elements. Time to let go. Death stalks through the frosted nights, some of our brother and sister creatures will let go. Lives well lived, the end place beckons.

Samhain speaks of closure, of ancestral wonder. The veil wears thin as spirit strides through the dusky gloom of autumn’s eve. Time for magic. Skin tingles, hairs bristle as the unseen ones rise once more. Seeking solace, searching for home. Who wanders easily under the gaze of the moon in the death of the woodland night?

From death springs hope of life anew. The circle turns relentlessly on as plans for Beltane etch onto the face of Mother Earth. Time to ponder. Sulphurous hazel leaves hide tender catkins whose hopes are certain. New growth will come. First… let go…