I was hiking in the late afternoon yesterday, and as the mild wind hit me, I felt that biting cold. It was a particular type of "cold" that hinted at one thing: "winter." Although the horizon looked fall to the eyes, it's clear that winter is approaching. Sure, technically winter may be two months away; but practically-speaking, the cold and rain season start on November 1st. It depends, sometimes the "Indian summer" can even stretch into early November here; but we haven't had a particularly warm Indian summer this year. I suspect that the cold season will be in full affect at the start of the month.
In a strange way, I feel a slight sadness at the start of November and in mid-March. I become sort've accustomed to both the warm and cold seasons, and don't want to let them go. I think that from my ancestral memory, I don't want to let go of the warm season because that marks the end of the harvest season, and the start of harsh conditions... historically speaking. I think that I don't want to let the cold season go because my ancestors largely lived in similar weather, and I feel a degree of subconscious comfort in that.
As I was hiking along one side of a mountain valley in the Santa Cruz Mountain chain, and as I felt the chill of the wind, I looked towards the mountain on the other side. It looked dark and foreboding against the early twilight western sky. I felt that I understood a little how our pagan ancestors viewed the seasons, especially as it affected their lives, their harvests. Ancestral memory can manifest in a type of déjà vu.
"At the dawn of time there was man and nature." --'Valhalla Rising'
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