The real answer is beauty

The autumn equinox offers a moment in balance. Slowness remembers, hurry forgets.

Are we there yet?

That question came to me as I walked alone through the prairie toward the water. The whir of crickets in dry grasses was loud and then louder, and my mind had been wandering aimlessly after a typically busy day. Then that familiar but out-of-nowhere question rose like a flag and I was pulled to ponder, once again, the passing of time.

It’s the autumn equinox. It’s the autumn equinox again.

I’ve come here to sit on a bench among the marsh grasses, under the flyway of migrating geese, and to sunbathe in the rays of this September evening. The small plaque on the bench is inscribed with the common refrain: Not all who wander are lost. It’s one of my favorites since I wander quite a bit.

I have been ‘wandering’ with you patient readers for the past three seasons. When I began the Wanderlife writing project on January 1st, I was setting out for a year of getting lost in the delights of enlarging the spirit and lighting up the brain. Now it’s early autumn and I realize I am almost there.

But the answer to the child in the backseat, when they ask “Are we there yet?” is always: We’ll never be there. It can only be now, right here. We are here.

As the crickets’ soft autumn hum
is to us
so are we to the trees
as are they
to the rocks and the hills.

Gary Snyder

Balance is the beauty of an equinox

Today the sun rose at 6:45 am. Sunset is at 6:55 pm.

Twelve-ish hours of light. About twelve hours of darkness.

This is my 49th autumn equinox. The impulse to be attentive as I approach the milestone of my 50th birthday is the same instinct that has insisted for decades that I notice the solar and moon cycles within the rhythms of the passing days. The construct and experience of time fascinates me. Measuring the flow of my movements within nature’s patterns helps me make sense of things. I don’t think my life matters that much, but it matters to me.

“Slowness remembers, hurry forgets,” wrote the modern poet Mark Nipo.

When my wrists were younger, spring and fall transitions were celebrated with 108 sun salutations. Now I sit on a bench in the sunshine, listen to birds, marvel at the moment. I soak up this particular angle of light through every pore in my skin in preparation for a well-nourished winter season.

The equinox heralds a tipping of the scales. But right now, there is balance. The equinox is the pause between the bountiful inhale of light and air and the long, slow exhale of winter. These liminal hours hold the memory of release, letting go, and folding inward after all that stretching to enjoy every last drop of summer’s glory. The high solar energy that gushed through long days has tamed to a trickle and will turn gently toward well-deserved retreat, rest, regeneration, remembering.

Sitting here, in among the reeds and rushes at this moment, I am grateful for your companionship in this creative space. Thank you readers — it means so much to me.

“The real answer is home, the real answer is beauty.”

- Frances Mayes, from ‘A Year in the World.’

Sincerely,

A Few Moments at the River

Photos of the Lower Wisconsin River by John Click