Samhain has passed and we’re in the realm of withdrawal into the root, the self, the soil. The hours of sun are reduced, but its rays are like flames of candles lit to recall, remember, to reflect. Out of the calm comes new strength. The other half of the moon is only dark until we step across the threshold and see it lit. We harvest our crops just as we take our imagination’s fruits, weigh them, hold them, serve them. The forest floor is covered by past’s treasure and our steps shift shed leaves so they crackle and dance. We can see a new side to what’s not lost, but changing, adding to the earth, fertilising new seeds that gather strength as we take our time to breathe and dream, never knowing what encounters await us on our ramblings through the woods, what will grow wings and take flight to cruise high above the treetops, calling out across our November fields.