The Descent of Autumn or Becoming Wild Once More
The scent of woodsmoke hangs in the damp air,
Mingles with the scent of decay, of wet earth and dying things.
Day is slower to break but all the more glorious for the wait,
Mornings cloaked in swirling mists,
the blackbirds song ethereal, melancholic,
And jewel dew drops adorn my ebony hair
Like stars arrayed in the darkest depths of the night sky.
Leaves fall to the ground, all reds, oranges and yellows,
As though the sun has splintered.
They catch on the air and dance their final dance,
Pooling in corners to crunch beneath feet
Or to be thrown in the air with squeals of delight.
Night falls sooner,
Darkness descends
And lays over the quieting land.
~ Emma Kathryn, Season Songs
The morning is shrouded in darkness and fog, the combination making the last remnants of the night seem darker, more lonely.
I feel at home on mornings such as this, want nothing more than to melt into the land, to glide through the woods unseen by human eyes, to breathe in that wood spice scent that only autumn brings. Even as my spirit craves this, instead I must retract my claws, disguise my wildness as I get ready for the day ahead, but for now, in this moment, this is enough. To stand barefoot in the wet grass with the spirits of the land, my genius loci alive and active. To feel the roughened bark of the cherry, the cool, damp air on my skin. To feel the breeze catch at my loosened hair. To be wild for just a moment longer.
Already the blackbird is active. I haven’t heard his piercing song yet, but can see him as he flits between the trees, finally perching in the linden. The datura blooms seem to glow in the dark, ethereal and even more beautiful than in the daylight hours. The wall of ivy is silent at this hour, the sparrows still sleeping within, is black against the darkness, deeper and darker than the night itself.
Autumn has always been my favourite season. There’s something special to be found in all the seasons, but my heart belongs to the growing dark. I find something soothing in the winding down, in the retreat. As an introvert type, it feels like coming home. And of course, there is a beauty in the slow decay that comes with autumn. The trees put on a colour show far more beautiful than any illuminations or fireworks. The murmuration of the starlings more dramatic and entrancing than anything Hollywood might offer.
The woods are one of my favourite places to be in autumn. Those bright days when the sun shines golden and hazy, and the wind blows warm but with an edge when the sun disappears behind a cloud. When the leaves are golden, red and orange, when the wind catches them they fall in a cascade. The earthy scent of the forest floor and the sweet smell of decay. But it’s not only the beginning of autumn I like, but those dark and damp days too.
As autumn descends, I always feel a touch of nostalgia. Perhaps because we are entering that time so often associated with looking back. Perhaps it’s the approach of the autumn equinox, Mabon for those who follow the Wheel, as buckled as it might be, increasingly divorced from the land and the rhythms of it. That time of balance between light and dark, a moment of quiet in the season of rapid transformation.
Perhaps it is also tinged with the loss of those wild spaces. We see it with our own eyes. A tree here, a garden there, fields and woods and more, lost in the name of progress. I see this mirrored in society too in the processes of gentrification and the loss of community, the separation between neighbours. The artificial divides used to separate those who have more similarities than differences. And our witchcraft practices are no different, becoming increasingly sanitised for the sake of polite society.
But we witches are wild things, are we not? That wildness within our hearts cannot be tamed but instead must be unleashed.
So as I stand here in my night garden, breathing in those last few moments of pure freedom, where the many masks of who I am can slip away, revealing that wild girl with wild hair, the one with a wild spirit and magic in her heart, I call to those of you who too feel the wildness within. As the autumn deepens and darkens, let us remember our place within this world, as a part of nature and not something separate from it. Let your masks slip and your claws grow. Let us become wild things once more to dance beneath the boughs and howl at the moon but also to protect that which we hold sacred, the very wild itself.
EMMA KATHRYN
Emma Kathryn, practises traditional British witchcraft, Vodou and Obeah, a mixture representing her heritage. She lives in the sticks with her family where she reads tarot, practises witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
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