The Inner Sanctuary of Autumn

"And that there is a place in you where you have never been wounded, where there's still a sureness in you, where there's a seamlessness in you, and where there is a confidence and tranquility in you. And I think the intention of prayer and spirituality and love is now and again to visit that inner kind of sanctuary." John O'Donoghue

Fall is a time for gathering, winnowing, turning inside and then back out to face a cold wind. It is almost impossible to walk through the beloved woods without getting bonked by a falling acorn, the squirrels are working so hard to build their winter stash. The grasses in the wetlands have stopped growing bent at the waist by the weight of seeds and red winged black birds. I am turning to the East later and later eager for the sun's breech. I gather wool and needles; knit shawls, hats, mittens of every color to welcome snow and dark. The wood is stacked high, the squash piled in the bowls, apples tart and hard just plucked from sister tree. The strength of the turning has entered my body; my bones harden, muscles flex, joints glisten with grease. I crave the poetry of John O'Donoghue, of lichens and cold granite and the trembling beauty of the cold wind. Know me I sing to the jewel weed, the beaver, the stiffening mud.