The change of seasons means something different at different ages. There comes the point where we recognize the things that endure despite many changes. The pagan Celts, my ancestors, celebrated the autumnal equinox, when the length of night and day are roughly equal, as Mabon. Not only was it a time for hunting and harvesting, but of appreciating the return of balance. Even today, it’s a time for reflecting on what’s gone by and what we hope for.

It’s been a fine year. The grandkids are growing, and I’ve had a little luck writing and publishing. One of my stories will be published before year’s end by a publisher I’ve long admired and aspired to, and I have four submissions looking for love in the slush piles at various venues.

And I’m working on new stories. The coming of fall is a good time to reassess and rededicate. I love getting out into the wild, taking a few chances, letting myself get a little lost. I need more of that. And when I’m not stomping around in the maritime forests or desert. I also love exploring the wild places in my head and heart. There’s no more productive and exciting means of doing that than the craft and discipline of writing. Here’s to a productive and energizing fall.