The sun recedes from its high water mark. The blitzkrieg of Beltane is no longer seen as a benevolent liberator by Lughnasa. Darkness amasses a counterforce set to strike on the equinox. By Samhain, a series of nighttime raids will reoccupy the border strongholds in the empire of the sun, whose string of minor setbacks transforms into a rout.
But the sun remains high and bright this morning, a piercing tyranny of light. Little hides from its unrelenting gaze. Just a softness lingering near the margins, more shade than shadow, sensed but not quite seen. Until darkness swells on the horizon and low clouds grumble their righteous indignation until their indigo anger flashes brilliant white against the despotic summer blues.
At dusk, sunlight melts into the crucible of another day, its molten gold briefly shining through the accumulated dross before staining the horizon a bloody red as it reluctantly yields the field to night.
Storms of yellow twilight bring a gentle rain of lavender flowers, each tiny blossom replaced by another in seemingly inexhaustible clusters. Soon, their colorful numbers will dwindle, unreplenished, as summer's tears wash the fallen into shallow, muddy graves and a chorus of the night sings in requiem.
But tonight, that insurrection is merely in the planning phases, bright lines on a celestial map, shadows gathering behind the garden wall. The lords of light still reign resplendent, while dark princes wait impatiently for their time to rule our terrestrial realm.
© 2010 Edward P. Morgan III
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ReplyDeleteNotes and asides:
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Living in Florida, the sun becomes oppressive this time of year, a bright, arc-welding light in the summer sky. Though just at the edges, you begin to sense an almost imperceptible dimming, a softness not quite shadow. By the end of the month, it becomes more obvious, though the heat and humidity remain unbroken until the equinox.
Most people long for summer and miss it when it's gone. I look forward to the fall, the time after the threat of storms have passed when we can open the windows. For most of the summer, I only see the sun through the office windows. Not until fall do I get out and enjoy the feel of it against my skin. But I love the night more than daylight. With the exception of dusk and dawn, it inspires me more. It is safe, like a blanket spread upon the land, snuggling everything into its little caves and dens. Summer is a bit too bright, too open, too exposed. There is comfort in the night.
I'm sure I would feel different if I lived farther north, say in New England, my parents' ancestral home. Then I would probably look forward to the shorter summer, pining for it all winter. Down here, the roles are reversed. We always long for what we don't have, and fool ourselves into thinking we would never miss what we do.
However you feel about darkness or light, I hope you take the time to notice the interplay of each on this Lughnasa, the first day of the Celtic fall.