I am not sure why the vernal and autumnal points of equal light and night have, seeming by default, come to be known as equinoxes. They could just as easily be called equilux, equal light. Today’s poetry practice is inspired by one of my favourite times of year. It is especially dear to me because we moved to Ireland in September. Seventeen years ago at Equinox/Equilux I arrived in what has become my place of belonging after a previously very nomadic life. I realised recently that this is the longest I have ever lived in any place in my lifetime.
There are storms spinning out in the Atlantic.
The sunflowers’ petals shatter in the rock and sway,
their heads splayed. But the bees still come
and feed on summer’s last supper
despite low cloud, a dense afternoon gloom
My husband has tucked the garden up.
I bring the winter clothes down.
The earth is getting ready to say,
There are showers and rumours of rainbow.
Rosehips, haws and rowanberries
Smack their lipsticked lips in the wind,
which alternates hot and cold in September custom.
Sloes wait their turn for frost to
add their snap to jars of gin.
Sometimes the angle of light when I look up
into the sky could bring me to my knees, down
onto the earth getting ready to say,
“Oh, sweet light!”
Copyright Bee Smith 2018