Two days ago was the autumnal equinox. Yesterday was New Moon. And this morning a drought-stricken California woke to rain. I'm not saying that anyone outside of this landscape would know that fall has reached the Sacramento Valley, but we who live in this place know. After all, the leaf tips on all the trees are dried and brown, and what is still fresh is turning a different shade. There are pears. Huge strong-stemmed, cinnamon-sweet Yali. Rough brown Bosc. Juicing, palm-small Seckel. Luxurious and luscious Comice. The jujubes, too, are a ruddy and falling off the trees. And I am thrilled. Thrilled in a quiet, yawn and stretch sort of way. Fall is a good, productive time for me. Fall has a way of whooshing me back down to earth, the solid substance of ground underfoot. It is the down swing, a movement slow and warm, gentle enough to not produce a panic, but with enough strength behind it to understand, there is no fighting. There is only sitting down (or standing up!) and doing my work, whatever that is. There is only stepping out and taking risks in that quiet, plodding way - the way that means I'll have enough energy to risk again, ad infinitum, because I'm not flitting about like some caffeinated faery before a faeryland beauty pageant. This is no pageant. This is no show. And I'm not flitting or fighting anyone or anything at all. This is just autumn, and I am just me, the girl eating pears.
It happens to also be the first day of the Jewish New Year today, too. I am not Jewish, but like sacred sites that rotate through organized and not-so-organized religions, a holy day is a holy day, no matter who claims it and what for. So, it is nice to notice. Happy New Year. Happy New Moon. Happy new season. May it bring the quiet and the good work and the rest it should.