MINERALARTS:

This is the beginning of winter, when the creeks turn black and the ground – not just the air – begins to grow cold.  I’ve done elaborate rituals in some years, crossing a creek to journey into the Underworld.  Other years I’ve turned my desk into an altar to friends, teachers, and ancestors who have crossed over.  This year called merely for simple personal rituals for protection, and a noisy walk up the street with my bells during trick-or-treat time.  The real activity came later, as owls hooted, coyotes and dogs howled, my cats prowled, and I lay awake staring into the moonlight…until dawn brought calm silence and golden light, and the usual clear, empty feeling that this day always brings – that sense of suddenly being in a new place, a bit lonely but holding humble new possibilities.