august 1st~birthdays are holy days, the sacred aperture of the soul’s entry on the earthly plane. which brings to mind my friend Paul, born today, on the pagan celebration of the turning point of summer, the beginning of the harvest season–a time of year which deserves high praise from me for all that’s been received…
my son Aidan, my first kiss with my husband, our move to Vermont, the last day of our summer backpacking honeymoon adventure across Europe, our firstborn…
And before the wheel turns to Autumn, the birthday of my beloved & the return to spirit of my mother on the same date
and in between and before the season’s turning–the holy apertures of nieces & nephews, in-laws, & grandmothers, uncles & friends, my baby sister, my father, and the honorable 44th President of the United States of America.
And then there’s the fruit, the tomato, the cornflower, the pumpkin, the blueberry.
All these outrageous acts we gather in abundance for the leaner seasons.
I love Mondays. The chance to start again. To get it right.
I hate August. “A month of Sundays.”
As a result, I’m often angry.
A reminder that I need to grieve.