Today is the autumnal equinox, when pagans and scientists are in agreement.
Don't tell either that the world turns just the same, with or without them.
This year on the prairie, the sound of leaves in the breeze already has a brittle edge. Cicadas are intermittent. On overcast days like today, crickets rule.
A decade ago in the northwoods, the autumn season was robust.
Were I born in a different time and had the Toy Canon (or these days just your average phone), I suppose I'd have more snapshots.
But I didn't, so those from the fourteen straight months spent exploring the land I love best are about it.
From here they sure look like good years to me.
My emergency backup ended up a casual pursuit. It was convenient. Near weightless. A simple reflex, not a thought.
Hadn't much considered the results, until now. For sure, I'd never try to get a fine art print from any of these these.
The technical term would be crappy.
But fine art printing's no longer at issue. Lucky me, eh?
Time flies.
And with it flows the life giving light.
People say the light is long or short, warm or cold. Almost always it's somewhere between. Occasionally in near perfect light, it's everything at once.
What's not to love about Superior autumn?
For the last few months, the northlands day has steadily shrunk.
Some take autumn for being warm and rich. Nostalgic, even. And they hold the sublime light in their hearts like living, breathing memory.
Transitional light is all that good stuff, sometimes. When not otherwise in your face chilly and blowing low.
Depends on the day.
The Toy Canon's been gone a long time now. I don't mourn its passing.
On the prairie as in the northwoods, countdown to winter solstice began in June. That just means we're about halfway there, pagans and scientists both.
Happy autumnal equinox.
#equinox
