I’ve been quietly untangling thoughts about Lughnasadh. I don’t think I’m going to stand on ceremony this year. A baked offering with some Red Fife flour, and some beer offerings, and not much else. When I’m at home I tend to practice without circle castings; it’s more in the vein of hallowing the space and working from there.

I’ve had a greyness on me, the last couple of days. It isn’t something I can identify as having come from any one thing. It simply is.

Our summers are always busy with social events. Busy, and hot. I don’t cope with the heat well. Between the two things I spend a lot of the summer anxious, angry, and exhausted in some way or another. The summer just sucks the life right out of me. And yet that’s not the source of my greyness.

I am rather content to let it be. I don’t think of melancholy as undesirable. It’s just the other side of the bell curve. So I haven’t been fussing about it, or trying to unravel its’ source.

But, it unraveled itself. For several nights now, I have been walking the same paths, over and over - swirling spirals that move from crafting to coven, from home to field, from fire to water. And I realize that inside myself, summer has broken. The Wheel turns ever onwards, and the rising energy of the year has fallen noticeably past its’ peak now. As above, so below.

While the heat will continue, and we’ll wear the green and gold a while longer, it’s already autumn in my spirit. Like the sun itself, I await winter’s silence, to recharge myself anew.