Today is the Autumn Equinox, one of two days each year when daylight and darkness come close to standing in balance. Last year, I wrote about the history of the equinox, ancient harvest celebrations, the story of Demeter and Persephone, and even my favorite chocolate cookies for celebrating the season. But this year, I’ve been thinking about something different. I’ve been thinking about the word balance.
A Day and Night in Balance
We tend to think of balance as something we’re supposed to achieve and then somehow maintain. A perfectly ordered life where work and rest, family and solitude, responsibility and creativity all receive exactly the right amount of attention.
I’ve never been particularly good at that kind of balance. And I’m beginning to suspect that nature isn’t either. The equinox lasts only a moment. Almost as soon as light and darkness reach their brief equilibrium, the balance shifts again. Here in the Northern Hemisphere, the nights begin their slow advance. My garden fades. Leaves change and fall. The air cools. The natural world begins withdrawing into itself.
Nothing stays balanced for very long. Maybe that’s the point. For most of human history, autumn wasn’t simply a decorating season filled with pumpkins and candles and flavored coffees. It was a season of preparation. Crops had to be gathered. Food had to be preserved. Wood had to be stacked. Homes had to be made ready for winter.
But once the work was finished, there was also a slowing down. The fields rested. The trees let go of their leaves. Seeds waited beneath the soil. The darkness came earlier each evening, whether anyone was ready for it or not. There is something comforting about remembering that rest and retreat have always been part of the cycle.
Especially for those of us who spend much of our lives making things. Writers are constantly being told to produce more. Write the next book. Send the newsletter. Post on social media. Update the website. Learn something new. Plan the next project. And sometimes all of those things are necessary.
But autumn reminds me that creation doesn’t happen only during periods of visible growth. Some things grow in the dark. Some ideas need to lie fallow. Some stories need time before they’re ready to be told. And sometimes we need to gather what we’ve already grown instead of immediately planting something new.
So this year, I’m celebrating the Autumn Equinox a little differently. I’m still welcoming the pumpkins and apples and cooler evenings. I’m still looking forward to tights and sweaters, Halloween decorating, bonfires, and all the wonderful foods that belong to this time of year. But I’m also trying to pay attention to what the season itself is doing. Gathering, finishing, letting go, and resting. And trust that the darkness is not the end of the story.
Today the balance tips toward the darker half of the year. And perhaps, instead of fighting it, we can simply follow the season home.
