all saints, all souls

Holy moly, people. Slow it down. We haven’t even washed the beer off of our Halloween costumes yet, and the Christmas trees are already up in the stores.

I didn’t even have hot cider yet. CAN I NOT GET ANOTHER WEEK FOR HOT CIDER.

The hallows and the saints and the souls have just whipped right by me faster than I could give them a proper tip of the cap.

I say let’s luxuriate a moment or two more in this beautiful in-between. Before we fully fall into fall. Let us float for a breath longer in transition and all its ancient knowing.

I love this particular phase on Earth of harvest and ending. Something in the air grants permission for casual curiosity in expansive spirituality. And whimsy is encouraged in an adult setting too often wholly lacking childish celebration. Something a bit mystical rolls in on that cold, fresh air that makes being human a touch less plodding, and a titch more attuned.

Put that wolfish nose of yours into the headwind and really smell the earth. And for the sake of your passed parents’ parents’ parents, let’s realize our magic lives, revel in our harvest, and speak to them in whispers we somehow know they’ll hear.