The golden hues of late afternoon spilled across the forest, dappling the clearing outside Magdalena’s cottage in warm amber light. The air held a crispness, hinting at the season's slow shift from abundance to introspection. It was Mabon, the autumn equinox—a time of balance when day and night shared equal space, a brief pause before the darker half of the year.
Magdalena stood in her garden, her hands deep in the soil as she pulled the last of her summer harvest. Carrots, beets, and onions spilled from the earth into her woven basket, their earthy scent mingling with the sharpness of dried leaves on the breeze. She hummed softly, an ancient tune passed down through generations, a melody that celebrated balance and the gifts of the land.
Inside her cosy kitchen, the scent of apples, cinnamon, and cloves filled the air as a spiced cider simmered on the stove. She paused, hands brushing against the smooth skin of a pumpkin, and reflected on the meaning of Mabon. It wasn’t just about gathering the harvest; it was about acknowledging the seeds she’d planted—literal and metaphorical—and giving thanks for what had flourished and what had faltered.
As twilight began to deepen, Magdalena lit her altar. She arranged dried corn husks, colourful leaves, and a single candle at its centre. Bowing her head, she whispered her gratitude:
“For the sunlit days and moonlit nights,
For the lessons learned in joy and strife,
For the gifts of earth and air,
May balance guide me in all I bear.”
She stayed there for a while, letting the flicker of the flame and the rhythmic song of crickets carry her into quiet contemplation.
Miles away, Aria bustled about her home, her arms laden with groceries as she prepared for a small Mabon gathering with friends. Life had been a whirlwind lately—meetings, school pickups, and endless to-do lists. But she’d promised herself to carve out this moment, not just for tradition but for her own grounding.
In the kitchen, she chopped vegetables for a hearty soup and arranged an array of bread and cheeses on a wooden board. A bouquet of sunflowers and eucalyptus adorned the centre of the dining table, flanked by golden candles. As she worked, her phone buzzed with messages from her friends, confirming their arrival times.
When the doorbell rang, Aria welcomed her guests with hugs and laughter. They each brought something to share: a bottle of red wine, homemade apple pie, a bundle of fresh herbs. Together, they feasted, their conversation weaving between gratitude and hopes for the months ahead.
As the meal came to a close, Aria invited everyone to join her on the back porch. She handed each person a small piece of paper and a pen. “Let’s write down something we’re grateful for and something we’re ready to release,” she explained.
When the papers were written, they lit a small fire in a metal bowl. One by one, they cast their notes into the flames, watching the smoke curl into the cool evening air.
Aria smiled as she felt the weight of the moment, the presence of her friends, and the quiet guidance of Magdalena’s teachings. Though their lives were worlds apart, she knew the essence of Mabon connected them—a shared dance of gratitude, release, and balance.
As the fire burned low and stars began to scatter across the sky, Aria raised her glass. “To balance, to gratitude and to the gifts of the season,” she said.
“To Mabon,” her friends echoed, their voices carrying into the night.
1 comment
To Mabon.