So, the first week in November was Hallows. The whole week.
I wrote about this before: the fun/gross/sexy/creepy launch of Halloween, the days between with their various observances, and then actual Hallows/Samhain, the midpoint between the autumnal equinox and the winter solstice, on Nov. 7 or so. It’s a whole week of fun, introspection, contemplation of mortality, and goth goodness.
We Pagans love our Festival of Darkness and Death. It’s a/the high point of the wheel of the year. I got to see and circle with two groups of friends, which, frankly…well, are any of us getting face-to-face time with friends much any more?
But it’s over now, and I’m experience the corollary of “festival drop”, the deflated sense of missing the good times that occurs after returning home from a festival or other truly joyful experience. The days are dark, I’m back to staring at the walls of my home, trying to get work and finishing up the latest book.
With the clocks having been set back on the very night my circle held our Hallows ritual, it is suddenly dark and cold and we’ve even had some blessed rain. Winter is arranging itself to proceed.
The leaves are bright this year. Somehow the foliage is more brilliant and moving that it has been in several years, perhaps because we got some early rain. Dunno, but it’s beautiful.
I have a lot to feel grateful for, despite the challenges, and I make an effort to remind myself of the fact. But it’s cold and wet and dark and there was such festivity just a second ago.
Maybe we should just declare the entirely of Oct. 31 through Dec. 31 party time…