The November Lands
This is without question my favorite time of year. I love these golden days when most of the trees have shed their leaves, when the understory has died back, and you can see the land. When you can caress the earth with your eyes and trace her waterways…when the secret paths of the wild creatures are revealed… I love the smell of autumn leaves. I love the early darkness when the night is still warm and the houses are lighted and the doors are open, welcoming you home… I love molten apple cider, pumpkin pie, chili simmered all afternoon over an wood fire, hot dogs roasted over a hot fire on a cool night..
When Pagans speak of the After Life, many speak of The Summerlands or the Isle of Apples, where we are reunited with our Beloved Dead: a resting station before we go on to rebirth (whether that involves reincarnation on this earth or another plane of existence). I’m not that fond of perpetual summer, no matter how mild. Give me the November Lands. Give me a warm meadowlet on a sheltered ridge where it’s warm enough (and private enough) to shuck my clothes and bask in the sun. Give me a sparkling, chuckling brook laid open to the sky. Give me the thrill of surprising a buck who thinks he’s alone in the woods. And then hie me home at twilight to a Thanksgiving feast with my Dear Departed–a feast that has no beginning and has no end (no messy prep–unless cooking is your idea of heaven–and no dirty dishes).
