Equinox. A time of brief balance. Equal lengths. Day. Night. And just like that, imperceptible almost, we’ve already moved through it. Towards longer days. Towards warmth. Growth. New beginnings.
This cloth–honoring moon –reminder of waxing and waning. Reminder of equinox. Reminder that this is how we go. Shifting gentling from side, to center, to side. Back and forth. Gently passing over center with each swing. The natural rhythm.
On the right, beast emerging–a benevolent creature–readying itself for becoming more. Moving into spring.
These next few night–from tonight through Wednesday–will be a challenge. Cold nights. Several near 22. Thursday night’s temperature snuck up on me. 28 degrees. I waited as long as I could but finally went out with flashlight. And yes. The plants were frozen. A white rim of ice etched each leaf. The kale, the lettuce. Broccoli/spinach/cabbage. The tender kale was especially wounded.
So now I’m rounding up containers to cover as much as I can during these next colder nights. I’ve begged and borrowed sheets. Little plants will be covered then tucked in and hopefully will survive. But next year I will follow Mo’s suggestion and set out after the equinox.
And I can’t help but wonder why? Why didn’t I wait? And deep down I wonder if there’s a need for creating tension? Unrest? I could be hanging softly over the balance point right now–waiting for the weather to shift–but instead have swung out–my arc a curving trajectory pulled towards “worrying”– now about plants. At other times, other things. And I’m seeing this pattern through different lens this morning. So ready to be done with it.