Sunday, November 2, 2014

The Call to Home

"In the chilly season, when the air grows cold and the spiders die, comes a thin time.  The days are short, so all the light of them is concentrated, squeezed between the dawn and the dark.  This is why the light is different, and each thing has a Shadow.  This is when the other worlds draw close, and the barriers between grow thin.  In a thin time, they say, you much be careful, because you might walk through a cobweb unthinking, and find yourself Elsewhere."

Diana Gabaldon
When the calendar page rolls over to November, I begin to feel the inward tug to slow down and the call of my soul to turn inward.
It's not as if the month is any less busy than the previous ones or  that anyone thing changes in my schedule.  I work the same number of hours a day and my weekends still find me at soccer games, grocery shopping and preparing for the following week.
During the spring and summer months I yearn to be outside.  I find any excuse to sit on my deck surrounded by woods, plants and herbs sipping coffee.
In fact, coming inside feels almost claustrophobic and stifling.  
I want to smell freshly turned earth.
I want to feel a spade in my hand and experience the act of planting flowers and herbs that will bring me joy in the months to come.
But November brings
cold temperatures and blustery winds.
The elements drive me inside.
I have been released and given the permission I need to come inside.
To sit.
To read.
To write.

The season itself is a burst of color and has its own appeal to the senses.
The air brings a coolness and  smell of a grateful earth...
finally liberated from the rays of the scorching sun.
It grants the observer one final display of colorful beauty
in the showers of wind blown leaves that give a rich visionary palette even in their death.

My hands no longer yearn to toil in the earth. 
The tools are put away and the garden has been put to rest.
 I carve out time for solitude.
I cultivate the skill of capturing expressions of my heart and soul.
I take the stories that whirl around inside of me and pour them onto paper.
November is the month of my birth.
Each year it is also the birth of new stories to be told and opportunities to create.
This November finds a wiser woman ..... a more seasoned woman....a woman
ready to walk into the light of truth.


  1. Interesting that we both chose the same subject!
    To everything there is a season. Autumn is a time of slowing down, curling up inside by the fire and telling stories. Can't you just imagine our foremothers doing the same.

  2. Nice, Debbie! You capture the feeling of autumn quite well. I think of it also as a time of harvest - when the grain is stored for use in the winter and the useless chaff is tossed aside. A season of sorting and tucking away the wisdom that seasons us.

    1. Wonderfully said Pamela. Tucking away wisdom. Your words always touch me.