The winds blow long, and loud, this November. The forest moans with their intensity, as they move in and through the trees, in gusts that grip and blow the remaining leaves away from their summer homes. The wind pulls the limbs, this way and a that, blowing with insistence. This wind that arrives with graying skies, reaches in and stirs my own fire, bringing restlessness, and presenting a challenge to find stillness, grounding, and quiet in this sound and fury.

I seem to crave the stillness of the trees, who remain rooted, tall, proud and bare-limbed. In their stillness they hold a trueness and an authenticity, ready for what may come.

The skies are gray.
The cornfields are brown, the forests damp and cool. 
The spotted salamanders creep into their tumbled leafy homes under the duff.
The mammals gather the foods for winter stores,
The deer call their family from the forest's edge.
The flocks of geese turn south in unfolding strands of family groups, leaving behind the frosty waters here.

I watch the flying groups of geese from the mountain top. This attention holds me. It helps me ground and return to center. I watch to gain perspective. This perch, here on top of the world, is a place to which I often return, to discover and maintain an inner cohesion; it is a place of landing. From this position, I witness those who travel, ahead of the cold winds to come. Ahead of the trials we will encounter. I witness the changing clouds, and also the ever present sun, stars, and planets in their passages across the skies.

In this practice, I purposefully, attentively also count the flying individuals as they pass. Individual, by individual, like conjuring a spell, a prayer, a gift to help them in their passage. I offer this prayer to them in hopes the gift may help them on their journeys ahead, and aid their swift return home. I know, they know, we know, that for now, winter winds and weather must blow. We ready for winter and the snows to come.

A friend from the mountain said , "Change is in the air and we witness it. All we can do is witness. All we can do is watch and count and ponder what not so long ago was, what now is, and what in future may or may not be."

The shifting of season from Autumn to Winter heralds a time of dreaming. Before the magic of new life can return, we must dream. And ponder, what we know and believe. Review our paths, and where we hope to go. And when we awake, when Spring returns, then it will be time to begin the dance of bringing the magic of new life. I will be ready.

For now, I collect my tools for the wisdom months: book, humor, art, pen, tea. Trusting that soon the thread, the one to lead us forward on the path, the one that will reveal itself as quiet knowing, the one to help us find our way will arrive. I will try to be like the trees, grounded, ready, still, and standing in unadorned bareness.
Ready for the winter snows and storms. Ready for what may come.