The path before you is dark. It’s strange and yet oddly inviting. The temptation is too great. Do not resist, surrender.

You begin your descent into the abyss.

Only the light of the entrance’s torch illuminates the first few steps. The journey becomes darker and darker as the light slowly dies.

You push forward and pause to mourn the light.

Total darkness now consumes you.

A shiver goes up your spine. A flash of fear enters your heart. The uncertainly of your odyssey  riddles your mind. 

Slowly winding and turning.. down, down, down you go. You are weak, tired, weary, and almost willing to sell your very soul for the briefest of rests.

You must continue. Complaceny has no welcome here. 

The rough stone steps are cool and gritty upon your bare feet.

The dank smell of earth fills your nose. With it, the musk of summer’s death. 

You continue downward, with the dripping sounds of unseen water as your only companion. 

Drip drop, drip drop, drip drop. You listen to it’s steady song. A meditation for the weary.

 Roots of the ancient Yew- the tree of death- play with your hair. You know that even though you walk alone, the darkness protects you. 

Your pace slows as you reach the last step. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you begin to rejoice.

The journey is over.

It is time to rest. 

You have descended into the dark. 

Welcome to the in-between my friends. We are entering the dark half of the year. The days are growing shorter, the weather(thankfully) is becoming slightly cooler with the Sun’s tight grip on the South slightly loosening.

The farmers here are working well into the night to bring in their final bounty.  When I step out my door I can smell the earthy scent of freshly harvested peanuts. If you’ve never had the chance to do so, I suggest you stop reading, get in your car and drive to the nearest peanut field you can find. The smell is intoxicating. At least to this country witch.

It won’t belong before the cotton is picked. When the farmers take their load of cotton to the gin, several blooms escape and blanket the sides of the road white. Alabama snow we call it. White gold to the farmer.

The light is changing and sunsets always seem sweeter in the fall.

As we continue our path further into the dark of the year, we mustn’t forget to give thanks for the past year. For me, this is the time to count my blessings, tie up loose ends, and prepare for an inward journey.

The dark invites us to get back in touch with ourselves and to look within for answers. It’s a time to let go of past trespasses, to rest, and to reflect.

You’ll also be smart to honor your dead, as this is their time to cross the weakened veil and come home again. Be sure to light a candle so they will find their way.

It truly is a magical time of year.