We set the alarm for 3am, and walked to one of the windows that look west south west towards the coast. The moon was a tiny, dusky ball in the velvet shadow of the world. Utterly lovely, dear sleeping satellite, one shoulder dusted still with gold from the distant sun behind and beneath us.
Since we moved here seven months ago, the earth has travelled more than half its course around the sun, and late winter has slipped through spring and summer to the first days of autumn. Still in love on this harvest moon, we watched perhaps the last perigee full moon’s total eclipse either of us will see. We must, we thought, watch this year out mindfully, marking each day’s change through the seasons.
The leaves, for instance, are starting to yellow and drop, with little – very little as yet – drifts of them along the hedge-bottoms. The last brood of blackbirds are fine, well grown birds now, despite their motley feathers, spreading out across the nearby territories in search of permanent homes. It is weeks now since we saw the four of them together. The warm days are followed by nights grown increasingly cold, as summer drops away and the air takes on a kind of crispness even at midday.
Spring and summer slipped away from us this year, we realised, too easily eaten up in the things you have to do after moving; especially, in our case, extracting ourselves little by little from our previous area meeting, working our way towards applying for transfer of membership. There has been much travelling to and fro between here and our old local meeting, too, trying not to leave Friends in the lurch by too sudden a withdrawal from responsibilities. This autumn, we shall try to watch each day carefully, with love, telling each other the things we’ve seen, the changes that have touched us each. The light is constant, but we little creatures of the light change, and are changed. This is holy, and good to mark.