Equinox

equinox_seeds

The last cucumber plucked, tomato plants pulled, hops and squash cut, seeds spread to dry. The wild turkeys feed on windfall apples and pears along the neighborhood streets, neglected imperfect fruit delicious in its fermenting, and strut into traffic. Days are shorter now. From raw harvest to measure, the Scales turn downward.

Rain came, early; the end of summer underlined by lightning, as if there might be any mistaking the change of season.

Thunder and roiling rising cloud armadas duel and pitch with cannon. A strike fried the wifi router and blew circuits, sent the dog under the bed, and me below deck away from the barrage on the southern windows.

Balance is never struck. I wonder at the phrase. Balance is a momentary pose found in vigilance and constant mediation, an asana of breath and intention. Was there ever a time of perfection? Sitting out on the cider house deck at sunset laughing while a train whistle blows in the distance. Perhaps. The moment dissolves into new tableau. It’s said one might balance an egg on end at the exact moment of the equinox.

Persephone falls.

Author: Kim K. McCrea

Kim K. McCrea earned her BA in English before embarking on a career in technology and public service. Kim won Oregon Writers Colony 2018 essay award, Treefort’s 2017 Wild West Writing Prize, and was named runner-up in Cutbank 2018 Big Sky/Small Prose contest. Her creative nonfiction is featured in Cutbank, Tishman Review, Cagibi, and elsewhere; she is the author of the novel Pandora's Last Gift. A native of the Pacific Northwest, Kim lives in Oregon, where she studies the moon and stars and wanders with her Labrador in the rain.

8 thoughts on “Equinox”

  3. Favorite season, can’t discern if it’s on account of my birthday coming or an excuse to be morose. The drama in the change so rich…I noodled over “striking” it too, or “achieving” it and don’t like either. Seems it just happens. And such a funny word, especially when considering “work-life balance.” I like your celestial ruminations combined with the everyday, a real nice influence on my own writing…thank you, has been a real pleasure reading your work this year. To a drying of seeds, restoration, and coming candle light.

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