The very term equinox suggests balance, the evenness and certainty of mathematical equations. Equity. Equality. Equidistant. A night that equals day (at least in theory). Any state of balance, however, is charged with the potential of transition. No real stasis can exist.
In the midst of my (unexpected) transition back to life in the Pacific Northwest, another transition occurs around me with neither awareness of nor concern for my own. As Mabon nears, clouds and rain have curtained off the blue sky that against the green of Douglas Fir looks as if some amateur photographer turned up the saturation too much in Photoshop.
No moment of balance, no pause, between these seasonal weather patterns occurred, though I could name one if I wanted to–if I felt it necessary.
That is the spirit in which we mark equinox.
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