The Sun, setting smugly now, must know a secret that we do not know. Each day he grows weaker and weaker still. His rays, if seen at all, shine low on the horizon. Gone are the days of the powerful zenith, the days when the Sun seemed to stand still in the sky above us, imperious. Gone are the days of carefree frivolity, of peace and plenty, of what seemed like endless growth. Now he dwells weakly in the western sky.
I was inclined to believe that images such as the photo below were a false bravado designed to throw us off the scent of his imminent demise. I thought they were a last attempt at the greatness he once knew, a last attempt of his former glory and nothing more. But after yesterday’s recon mission when I silently stalked the Sun and learned some of his secrets, I am not so sure anymore. I did not hear the words of the charms he whispered, but I know they had great power in them.
|Magic is afoot . . .|
The air is pregnant with something that is about to happen. We humans are not told of it, and most of us wouldn’t listen anyway as we run back and forth in our errands and our jobs. Most of us are blind to the cycles that rule us like an iron fist. But the animals of the forest, the animals know. And they have told me that something is about to happen, not in so many words but in their actions. Waiting. All eyes look to the west now. Watching.
I am fortunate to have my connection with the outdoors, to spend more time there than I do indoors. I will keep vigil, and when I see the impending event (whatever it might be), I will let you know what has happened. Perhaps this time we will not forget.