A belated anniversary moodling

Next spring's bulbs (178 of them)

When the leaves change and we reach Autumn Equinox, these Simple Moodlings close another year. Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking to start my online moodling (love letters to the world) at harvest time, when there's so much to do in the garden before that first frost, which seems to be arriving late this year thanks (but no thanks) to climate change. It's definitely not the best time to be marking a moodle-versary, with produce to process, spring bulbs to plant, and a garden to put to bed.

But at the same time, it's a season for slowing down and taking stock. The colours change, the days get shorter, and my spirit starts to relax into a deeper awareness of light and darkness, warmth and coolness, and the gift of time in general. As I watch the squirrels tucking our oak tree's acorns away for the winter, I am tucking away summer memories, and relishing the good muscle aches from spreading compost and collecting leaves to make next year's good black humus.

Life is a never ending cycle, and seeing the leaves fall in this covid season brings to mind the many losses and changes created by this pandemic. I think of all those we have lost to the virus, people who are slowly recovering from its effects, our medical people who are struggling to move forward as our healthcare system is being overwhelmed, and I wonder, at times, how our world will continue to function. Some days it's hard to imagine. But we keep on going.

On this feast of St. Francis, at this time when so many are so seriously ill with covid and there are still so many on our planet to be protected from it -- especially those with no access to vaccines, and children under 12 -- I ask the little saint of simplicity to pray for us, that we all do the right thing, not only for ourselves, but for our world as a whole. As I move into this 12th year of online moodling, I wish all my readers safe journeys through the darker months ahead.

May we all have the resilience of the bulbs I've buried deep in my front yard, and emerge into next spring's sunshine after a period of protecting the vulnerable through our patience, perseverance... and peace.