For me, October is the most energetically charged of months. It’s as if my mind, body and soul have come home to their original abode.
Sitting here on this ancient hilltop, my back leaning against one of the many gnarled yew trees that stand in groups around the site, I look out across the valley below.
A golden Autumnal dusk gradually cloaks the countryside around me, the cool chill of the evening air caresses my skin.
The pungent but aromatic smell of the cold damp earth permeating my lungs, taking me back to my childhood days of wonder and my natural immersion in Nature.
The gentle golden sunbeams shining softly through the small copses foliage, casting long shadows towards the summit of the hill.
A translucent mist rises from the river like a spectral memory of the mythical past. Reminding me of our race’s spiritual closeness to these rivulets of life, of offerings cast into their watery depths.
The leaves slowly changing hue, producing a deep yellow and vermillion backdrop of foliage, rich in colour and texture.
No other month seems to suggest so strongly the inherent cycles of Nature. The continuous movement of the seasons as the year winds down, from the yang of Spring and Summer to the yin of Autumn and Winter are exemplified by the sensual changes in climate and flora.
There seems a stronger spiritual link to the past at this time. Of forgotten memories of previous lives of my ancestors. Times of hardship, of storing food for the Winter, of having to fortify their houses and selves against the oncoming frost and snow.
Rituals are performed, acknowledging our integral relationship with Nature herself. To again become intimately aware of our dependence and oneness with all there is and ever was.
Returning from my reverie, I become aware that night is fast approaching. A distinct, almost physical coldness has arisen with the rising mist. As I return home, looking behind me I can see the encroaching darkness combining with the mist to create a crystal ball like visual portal to the past. I imagine that I can see the spectral souls of long dead citizens busying themselves with preparations for a forthcoming feast. It would be a night of flickering campfires, an almost tangible smell of roast meat fills the air, a chorus of excited, barely hushed voices emanate from the camp.
The often flimsy, gossamer margins between the past, present and future worlds dissipate further to produce moments of a unified sensuality of spirit, of complete oneness.
I leave them to continue to eternally re-enact their celebrations in peace.