Transitions by Nancy M Bell

 

To learn more about Nancy's work click on the cover.

The shoulder seasons of the year, spring and fall. Times of transition. Now in the autumn of the year the trees burn gold against the blaze of Alberta blue sky, the fields glow buckskin under the skies dotted with round bales where summer is wrapped up for winter feed. The nights draw in as the light slowly but surely loses its battle with the dark. The moon flares silver in the sable sky while the constellations march across the heavens. Orion leads his hounds and the Pleiades dance to song of star fire. 

Here on the Canadian prairies the sweep of night is wide and deep, often the moon lingers in the morning sky, a white wisp against the strengthening blue, while the sun breaks free of the eastern horizon to flood the landscape with pure gold light, pushing back the last vestiges of the night.

Our lives follow the seasons in a much slower manner. Childhood and spring, youth and prime of life and summer, the slow mellow aging and autumn and then the final dark of the final transition and winter. Leaving this turn of the wheel to walk the starlit skies, the winter skies, the summer stars, our feet sure on the path of the Milky Way. Perhaps that is fanciful, but I truly feel the rhythms and the stages and rightness of it. Everything in its time. In my case, maiden, mother, crone, all in their own time and with their own lessons. Part of a chain that reaches into the far distant past and into the future.

Children carrying the blood of our past and our heritage just as I do and the ones who came before me.

Transitions, always changing, always moving. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow...but always moving. Carrying us with them.

Until next month, stay well,stay happy.