Autumn equinox tomorrow morning. It can be a time for holy weeping, the trees wearing cloaks of gold and red, sun and blood, blessing and mourning. A time to grieve, a time to walk the passage of griefs released as the trees release their garments: presently to stand, still, proud, in winter’s burning cold. Presently, friends, soon: a whiteness comes of ending — and an excitement of immanent beginning. We will die, each of us, someday as the leaves die. Life itself survives. More than you and I, more beautiful. More to be praised. And so, Holy Weeping tonight, and Holy Joy. Happy Equinox this year, this night, this perilous, wondrous time.