In the evenings this week, I noticed the light as it faded. A little earlier than last week, and I saw night entering into our days. Walking on the path, it is fragrant with bay laurel, and the dust in the air brings that sense that these leaves, these paths, these rocks are worn out. It’s not quite time for the wet season, first everything gets very dry. The poison oak has all turned red. Some of it climbs high into the trees giving the illusion that the trees are turning autumn red, but we don’t have those kinds of trees in our woods. I like to walk in the morning when the light is bright and everything still feels cool and fresh and also in the evening, when the sun has warmed everything all day and the light is gentle.
We are getting close to the time of year when candles can glow against the dusk, as everyone comes home for the evening. When the sacred spot gets a little attention and the sprawl of the summer’s collected shells and rocks gets sorted and saved and a new image and a fresh candle are laid out. I like that in September we have summer blooms and green underlay and maybe an image of Christ that reminds me that he is close to us as we live our busy lives, find our routines.
This year, as I go to tidy and attend to my altar, I see all the rocks I’ve collected this summer–from Bear River, from the shore at Butterfly Beach and remember Robin Wall Kimmerer’s words, “The rocks are full of intention, a deep presence attracting life.” I feel the curiosity stir in my soul to learn which minerals are part of these stones. How they were made. I leave many of them in the sacred spot because I’m still wondering about them, and still honoring them. I welcome the season ahead.