During my evening run along the Bob Callan trail I took a few moments outside my day’s human schedule, striding the boundaries of Nature’s time. The cacophony of traffic on the I-285 and I-75 bridges above seemed insignificant amid the sights and sounds of rain-soaked foliage and the gurgling rumble of Rottenwood Creek. I recited the thirty-three names of the Unnamed Goddess and the thirty-three names of Mistress Cybele on my prayer beads.
At the bottom of the trail, where Rottenwood Creek empties into the Chattahoochee, a profusion of flowers cheered me along the riverbank path. All were tall flowers from the aster family, some purple, some lavender, but most golden-yellow. I was particularly drawn to the flowers with the radiating, pom-pom-shaped heads. I forget their name, but they flower abundantly throughout northern Georgia in early September. Their exuberance heralds the approaching autumn, foreshadowing the yellow and orange the trees will soon wear.
I lost myself in reminiscence on past autumns, my struggles with seasonal depression and my growing realization of the Divine Feminine presence. Autumn and its subsequent winter remind me to cherish this fleeting life while the living things of the natural world remind me of the generous renewal offered in the Goddess.