Before the Fall

photo by M.A. Howden

The change of season has Melissa Howden working on her equilibrium.

We just hurtled into fall. The autumnal equinox has just taken place. But lest you think you’ve missed anything, know this; the actual equinox (etymology = equal & night) actually takes place several days after the event depending upon where you are, geographically speaking.

In my neck of the woods, we will experience equal amounts of day and night within a minute on the 25th and 26th of the month. What does any of this mean? Generally speaking it means that the Sun rises directly in the east and sets directly in the west. It is a turning point—literally—in the year, the seasons being determined by the tilt of the Earth on its axis. It is also the time when we enter into the astrological constellation of Libra, the sign of balance on the scales.

THIS is where metaphor is made manifest. I find this time especially meaningful if not extremely challenging. I’ve been off kilter, out of step, unsure of my center, off my game, call it what you will it has not been especially pretty.

Simply put, I. AM. OUT. OF. BALANCE!

So with the arrival of the equinox, I welcome the possibility for some kind of return to balance.

This is the first time in over 30 years that I have lived in place with distinct seasons. I have almost lived here for a full cycle of seasons. I can say that summer went too fast and autumn is throwing itself toward winter with great abandon. Flip flops have already been traded in for down jackets.

Given my internal unrest I have been trying to learn the lessons the seasons have to offer. September brings the last day of summer and the first day of fall. I am awash in bushels of apples off of my tree, soon to become pies and cider, and plums and peaches off friend’s trees soon to be jam.

Here in the Southwest, the Native Americans believe that the Sky is Father, Earth is Mother and the Great Mystery contains aspects of both. We are the seed, the seed is intention and the ground in which we are cultivated is our will. The perfect balance makes all things possible. Therein lies the rub.

How does one achieve perfect balance? For an object to have definition there needs to be a balance of light and shadow in order to give it shape, indeed life—in effect the yin and the yang of it all. I have an overabundance of one hormone and not enough of another. I am weighted heavily toward technology and not enough in the zone of poetry and nature.

I find amidst all this harvest abundance that I cannot get enough air; the smallness of this town has its benefits and also claustrophobic drawbacks. Finding the place between impulse and intuition is proving to be a monumental challenge.

I have watched the leaves on the maple tree through my kitchen window go from green to red without stopping at orange. They will soon be last season’s artifacts. It seems as though the meadow grass I planted in my back orchard pushed through just in time to welcome the snow, and the flower pots no sooner got planted than it’s time to bring them in. How does this happen that the seemingly timeless becomes time limited in a flash?

So as I seek balance, so too does the season of equal light and dark; my overabundance of a particular hormone can be counteracted by increasing exercise. The technology can be self-limited as one does a child’s television viewing, replaced with more time on a trail, or mulching the fruit trees and planting bulbs.

As with cooking, when one adds a pinch of salt or a dash of cumin, achieving life balance seems to be nothing more than trial and error.

And sometimes, one simply has to gracefully accept the fact that the pie is just too tart.