This must be something I have said before: a day comes and the quality of the sunlight suddenly strikes me and I know that the summer is over in my psyche. I thought it was the angle of the sun. It's not about the hours of daylight, no. It's more subtle. It's something about the air that the light is passing through. As though I can sense at a certain hour when the sun is passing through some extra amount of atmosphere and has passed a specific point in my personal calendar. That happened some time in August. Maybe at the old Celtic festival of the first harvest... which makes me feel as if maybe in the past i would not have been alone in experiencing this. The odd thing is that one year I felt it in July, other years in September. But the feeling, the experience, is always the same. A sort of temporal solastalgia or saudade.
Anyway, this new light can be lovely.
As in spring, it induces halos.
But with it comes the weight of the knowledge of darkness. And my heart misses a few beats. No: it's my very soul that flickers. And then it tries to surge, raise its courage, but it can't quite meet the task. The tide of my spirit begins to ebb.
As though I were becoming less; an inner spiritual thinning. An insubstantiation.
And I look ahead. Imagine the short days and the darkness. There is fear and sadness. But, always, something remains.
Yes, I feel it too.