By Michele Mekel
The shrivelling vines are laden with ripened fruit,
pregnant with the seeds of the next be-ginning.
Pacha Mama’s resplendent robes burst into flame,
just before she answers the irresistible call of deep slumber.
Days grow chill and the veil thins, as the brisk breath of the ancestors
combs leaves from the boughs of the standing talls.
The sun takes early leave to ride the western sky, and
autumn’s misty, moon-lit nights silently slink in to fill the void.
We arrive, though, at a fleeting instance of balance,
when light and dark are equals in the realm of the heavens.
It is the briefest of gaps between life’s cycles,
before the wheel turns once more.
For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends Through a Season of Grief: Devotions for Your Journey from Mourning to Joy.