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It's just Winter now, and I took down all the Yule decorations this weekend—the tree, the ornaments, the pine garland on the mantle, the wreath, everything has been been taken down, put away, discarded. The boxes are back in a shadowy corner of the basement. Like Narnia, where it was “always Winter and never Christmas,” the trees are bare, snow is inches deep, the wind is icy, and now dark nights are even darker, there are no Christmas lights still lit to soften the darkness.

It's just Winter, and the bills we ran up during festive Sagittarius, have come due in austere, disciplined Capricorn. The holiday season has ebbed, and in its wake is a return to the small and cautious, to the frugal, to the tightening of belts, the tyranny of the budget, the austerity of a cleaner diet. It's just Winter, just a cold season with many weeks to Spring, still hibernating and quiet, too soon to plan Spring's garden or Summer's vacation.

There is an ancient Greek legend, recorded by Ovid and other poets, that tell of the tragic love of Ceyx and Alcyone. When Ceyx died in stormy seas, Alcyone threw herself into waves to kill herself , driven by her grief. Divine spirits took pity on her and transformed into a kingfisher, and from then on ruled that the days surrounding the longest night, would be calm and gentle, that no storms would rage, no tempest blow. These calm days in early winter, days when the kingfishers are nesting, are called the Halcyon days—a respite from Winter's cold and turbulent weather, a time of peace, repose, and gentleness.

This Autumn, a long, lingering, warm Autumn, seemed never to end, and when it finally did, it came in with a very cold deep freeze. Storms and cold weather arrived, refreshed, at every holy day I celebrated. At Faunalia, I made offerings in 5 inches of snow. At Saturnalia, a blizzard kept me home. The last days of the Autumn were golden and warm, and the gifts of almost-Winter were on display—the vegetation dying off had revealed all the paths in the woods, the river was flowing fast and deep, every day long lines of Canada geese would etch the twilight sky as they flew past. One name for December’s moon is the Geese Fly Moon, the time when migrating flocks pass by on their way South.

All through October, which was the warmest October on record here on the Front Range of Colorado, there were rumors and reports of scary, threatening clowns walking around scaring people. These clowns would be sighted on deserted roads, skulking suspiciously near woods or schools or unlit parts of neighborhoods. Leading up to Hallowe'en, my own kids could not stop chattering away the “creepy clowns,” repeating and embroidering on rumors that kept getting more threatening, more morbid. The clowns were seen close by, hanging around someone else's school, someone else's playground. It got so bad that the school district called the police, then sent letters to every home in town, trying to allay fears: no scary prowlers had been seen or arrested, there was no cause to continue to believe in them. But that did not stop the rumors, did not stop my kids and their friends taking turns scaring the daylights out of each other, with creepy clown stories.

.A quick scan of urban legends reveals that the creepy clown scare, like many other mass hallucinations, has a tendency to pop back up in times of collective societal stress. Kids, picking up vibes and amplifying them, act as both sensors and transmitters. Whether the cry is “creepy clown!” or “witches!” or “Communist!” or “terrorist!,” the dynamic does not shift very much. The pressure of anxiety, fear, and dread rises, is pressed down, but never released, until it bursts out explosively, sometimes even bizarrely. As we approached Hallowe'en and the election soon after, the creepy clown meme kept reasserting itself, no matter how many reassuring letters were mailed out.

In the golden days between Mabon, the Fall Equinox, and Samhain, the beauty of Autumn is on display all around us. The trees are ablaze, the harvest is in, there's a festive mood as we head towards Hallowe'en. There's magick in the air, a sort of enchantment. It's intoxicating,

Under Libra;s influence, all things take on a golden glow. Ruled by Venus, Libra awakens at the Autumn Equinox, holding the balance of light and dark in those famous Scales. As a Cardinal sign, Libra issues in many qualities of the season to come. Libra brings the desire for justice, for fairness, for loving connection. We are suspended between the extroverted joys of the ending Summer, and the beginning of the Descent into introspection and quiet. It is this exquisite tension that calls up the magick of this juicy moment of the year.

Last week I picked the last apple on the tree.

It's been a good year for apples, but my trees are young and small, and the crop was subject to the predations of squirrels and jays. Too many times I would leave an apple to ripe one more day, only to find it the next morning, smashed on the ground, maybe a few bites out of it, swarming with ants. So I grabbed this one, the very last one left, dangling on the very thinnest branch, and was grateful to have it.

In Irish mythology, there is a story of the salmon who swam in the Well of Knowledge, around which grew sacred hazel trees. The salmon ate nine hazel nuts that fell into the Well, and suddenly become possessed of the all the knowledge in the world. Anyone who caught and consumed the salmon would also take in the blessing of wisdom, and so the salmon was pursued by heroes for years.

When the Sun transits into Leo, the Summer is at its fullest, the Sun returns to its sovereign sign, the lush abundance of the Summer's growth is at its peak. But the Summer is past its tipping point: the Oak bows to the Holly, the Stallion bows to the Boar. The transition is subtle but distinct: the Oak King and his powers of expansion, of movement forward, of exploration, have given way to the Holly King, older, wiser, more cagey,with his powers of protection, of preservation, and of steadfastness.

Under the Full Moon of August—a hot rosy-colored moon, a hot wind riffles through the tall grass and there's thunder in the distance—the Leo Sun dances with the Moon in Aquarius, tempering the intensity of Leo’s expressiveness and passion, with a wider perspective. Sun in Leo is eminently powerful, and imbues us all with the leonine qualities of confidence, creativity and playfulness. We feel ourselves to be sovereign in our lives, our work and our art flourishes because our connection to source is open and we are empowered to receive. This power within ourselves is available as long as we allow ourselves access, we need to believe we are worthy, we need to believe in our contribution and our talent. But Aquarius further empowers to see that our passions and our actions do more than entertain and enrich us. The appropriate role of any conscious soul at this time is to bring our talents and our contributions out of our studios, out of our homes, and offer them up for the benefit of others. The Aquarius moon reminds us that our talents and dreams might be incredibly personal and vulnerable, but they also transcend our small personal lives to touch others, to have an impact on the world we share.