with thanks to Chris Margocs for hosting October’s Spiritual Journey Thursday. Chris invites our group to write about those who have passed and left something behind in our hearts, in preparation for the upcoming holidays of All Hallows Eve, All Saints Day, and All Souls Day. She says: “As a person of Celtic heritage, the idea of the thinning of veil between here and the hereafter on these days intrigues me…”
—Me, too, Chris.
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The stirrings begin with the first breaths of cooler air.
As September gives way to October, while the trees and grass are still green, before any obvious turnings of yellow, orange, or fiery red, they appear.
I sense them most often at doorways. Portals.
There, on weatherworn sidewalks, a smattering of fragments from dead leaves surreptitiously dropped—I can never tell exactly from where—comes to life just as I approach. A soft rattling, a lifting, a sudden swirling… the upswept pieces begin dancing in a circle.
Fairies, I think.
And then I think, Children.
Small children delight in collecting such things, bits of leaves, tiny twigs, acorn caps, a butterfly’s bright-patterned wing, cicada shells. Nature’s cast-off scraps of life. In the hands of a child, they become treasures, magical objects, if only for a moment, in the mind of the child.
Watching the leaf-bits dancing in a circle, round and round and round again, I wonder if invisible children are at play. I almost want to linger long enough to hear them laughing…for there’s a stab of joy in it that I cannot explain, a piercing longing, a wild freedom…why should I perceive these things?
I wonder, then, about memories, so like the leaf fragments rising anew at the portals as I continue walking through the stations of my life, here to there, there to here…it is real, this revenant of my own childhood, the child that I was, holding onto the treasures that were given to me, reliving the precious bits that remain. As memories swirl round and round, I delight in them, in re-immersing for a moment in long-ago moments with people I loved, who loved me, who sheltered me, sustained me, prepared me…and who are gone but never far away. I see their faces before me, their eyes shining. I remember their stories. I hear their voices: I love you.
People die. Love does not.
Autumn comes with its fiery promises, its contrasts, its losses; trees will soon release their fragile organs in hopeful glory of surviving the winter. They shall sleep until spring, until the reawakening, life made new.
I walk on, remembering, wrapping gratitude round and round me like a hooded cloak, still sheltered, sustained, loved, awed by the beauty that deepens around me every passing year.
The stirrings begin with the first breath of cooler air.
Dancing revenants of what was, hinting at what is to be.
Perhaps they are whispering Allhallowtide.
lit bits and pieces 
Fran, in Reading this I couldn’t help but wonder if the joy children feel when jumping into a pile of fallen leaves is because subconsciously they (we) are feeling the warmth and love of those no longer with us. Natures way of reminding us we are never alone. “People die. Love does not.”
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A lovely meditation on the spirits among us.
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Fran, within your post you share remembrance, faith, childhood, and revenants. The dancing and scattered remnants offer the merriment of childhood and allow me to dig deep into life through your words. I love these words: I walk on, remembering, wrapping gratitude round and round me like a hooded cloak, still sheltered, sustained, loved, awed by the beauty that deepens around me every passing year. I have never sensed immortal or mortal beings scattering their beings or belongings near me. I only hear them calling in night dreams, like last night. I like being surrounded by those who passed and those living. You gave me a next step to ponder this month.
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Thank you for this lovely response, Carol – the stirring of the leaves made me think of childhood, and for a moment, I was a child again, reliving the memories.
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Fran, I love your thinking! This idea of ‘portals’ and your wondering, “if invisible children are at play” is absolutely mesmerizing. Nature, especially in autumn, offers so many of these portals, these beautiful transitions to ‘other worlds.’ Perhaps it is my Celtic heritage that has me looking closely at moss, noticing what breezes stir up, looking for little homes in the hollows of trees. I especially love how you are reminded of loved ones who have died, and that “I see their faces before me, their eyes shining. I remember their stories. I hear their voices: I love you.” Just gorgeous.
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Thank you, Maureen. I, too, have Celtic roots (is this why I am drawn so to trees??). I now have a clip of that fairylike swirling of little leaves – I shall have to add it to the post.
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Your thought processes are so engaging, Fran–tying the swirling of leaves into your own childhood and those who cared for and loved you into being the person you are today. I love the word “revenant” instead of ghost, or spirit; it reinforces the idea that the love returns, again and again, even as the body’s intentions move on past the veil. I replaced my grandfather’s last painting, the one I hang for spring, with my mother’s fall-toned floral painting over the mantel–another piece of the ofrenda in my home, another strand of love remembered.
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Love DOES return again and again… my thinking is, if our love for someone does not die when they do, why should their love for us? It’s transcendent. Eternal. I, too, love the word ‘revenant’. The love in your response here about the seasonal paintings, the ofrenda, pierces my heart. Thank you for this and the spiritual journey inspiration.
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So much to love, but especially these words: “As memories swirl round and round, I delight in them, in re-immersing for a moment in long-ago moments with people I loved, who loved me, who sheltered me, sustained me, prepared me…and who are gone but never far away. I see their faces before me, their eyes shining. I remember their stories. I hear their voices: I love you.”
As I read your words, I delighted in remembering voices of loved ones. Thanks for this.
And swirling leaves . . . what’s not to love? I think there’s a Ted Kooser poem I need to find.
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Thank you for these lovely words, Ramona – I now have a little video clip of the leaves swirling in the way that inspired the post. I need to go back and add it!
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