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The day before Samhain I went to the creek to pour libations. In the week since my last visit, a cold snap and windy weather had shaken many of the leaves from the trees, and had finally driven many plants and shrubs into dormancy. It was a wonderful warm sunny day, but I could see the descent very clearly. The sky between the branches was getting larger, as the vibrant green of the woods and fields faded into copper and brass, and then into taupe and gray.

The magick of October is undeniable. Nature's showiest, most voluptuous month is a 31

This year September 1^st was very hot, approaching 100 degrees, bright and sunny. I love how hot 9/1 is, because I know that 9/30 will be radically different. No matter how hot and sultry September begins, it will end looking and feeling different. The month may start in triple digits but could see a hard frost before it ends. The transition into Autumn doesn't happen in an instant, and certainly this September I had several hot days that felt like late Summer. But as we get closer to, and then pass, the Equinox, the days mellow and ripen as the Summer fades away.

The light becomes more golden, thicker somehow. We are startled to notice how early it gets dark. The trees begin to turn. There's a chill that wasn't present in the early morning, and in the late evening. There are several cultural cues to emphasize this feeling of transition, of change, of excitement as new adventures begin. The new school year, no matter how long it;s been since I was in a classroom, always brings with it a desire to make changes, to shift focus. I want to do more ritual, to deepen and formalize my practice. Everything starts to slow down but all our senses are sharper. The Wheel is turning, and moving us closer to the Descent into the Dark of the Year. We're not quite there yet, but we are moving steadily in that direction. And everything—the trees, the animals and birds and insects, the water, the sky—everything reflects back that turning.

Summer is the time of lived experience, rather than reflection. In the Summer's heat, we tend our gardens, we travel, we play, we party. The long days of light and the beautiful evenings encourage us to go out, to extend ourselves, to flirt, to drum and dance around campfires. We blaze like the Sun, with the ecstasy of living and experiencing this beautiful World. Our senses reel – the air is perfumed with flowers and filled with the songs of birds and insects. The Sun can be brutal on our skin, and the shock of cold water when we dive in can sting with delight. We revel in the taste of juicy peaches and sweet corn. In the Summer we come into a sharp awareness of the sensual World: our living planet as we experience it through our senses. It feels almost redundant to analyze any of this. What Summer teaches us is to live fully in the moment, to be present here and now. This is where we find joy, where our bodies and spirits are made whole in the healing caress of pleasure and play.

An unexpected death in my family at the beginning of the season added the trauma of grief and loss to a time of growth and excitement, but ironically it served to underline the in-your-face immediacy of Summer. Along with all the sensory pleasures was the sharp bite of grieving and sorrow. The demands of the garden and its labors balanced the sudden tasks and burdens that come with a loved one passing. And all of it brought home the fact that all we truly have is this moment, and this moment is fleeting. It will never come back, and once gone is gone forever.

With the Summer Solstice on June 21, the Summer season commences with the Sun at its peak! The longest day pours the power of light and heat upon a dazzled Earth, and every living thing celebrates. We celebrate through dance, and merriment, and flirtation, while everything green photosynthesizes as hard as it can. The bees are at play among the wildflowers, the birds are flying sorties overhead, as a warm wind stirs the branches. It's Midsummer’s Day, also known as Litha, and the whole world goes Ahhh!

At noon on Litha, I go into the garden and cut roses for the altar. It never ceases to amaze me that June 21 and 22 is always the precise time that the sunflowers bloom, when suddenly the tiger swallowtail butterflies appear in my neighborhood. It's the time when I go outside and notice that the seed-heads on the tall grass have turned from tender green to pale gold. We are that the tipping point, the whole Earth is vibrating at its living, breathing, teeming limit, lit by a Sun at the peak of its power. We are at the crest of a wave, sitting at the very top of fountain of life unfolded in its glory. In the waxing part of the year, we sense that “Everything is Possible.” Today, on the Summer Solstice, all possibilities are present, in this very moment. It's beyond possibility: everything is happening right now! Everything is at its furthest extreme: the Sun is brightest, the shadows are deepest. We feel the ecstasy of desire and the pang of jealousy deeper. On Midsummer we are balanced on that furthest point, ablaze and joyful on this longest day.

By the end of May, Spring is definitely in full swing and might even be tipping into Summer. It is always a luscious sensation to be feeling the Earth wake up, feel the welcome and optimism in the growing light, the warmer air, the green haze in the trees and the slight sweet hum of things growing. The Goddess has ascended from the Underworld, the Earth rejoices and blossoms. May encourages us all to play, to feel, to flirt and luxuriate. To pursue pleasure.

It's ironic that, despite loving May's sensory pleasures as much as I do, I really don't much care for Beltane. Yes it's a shocking confession, and I don’t enjoy sounding like such an anti-hedonist. I'm too much of an introvert to truly enjoy the enormous crowds of public Pagan events. I have had, more than once, the experience of being quite pregnant at Beltane. The very sight of the Maypole made me queasy and as for the Love-chase, oh forget that. What felt particularly isolating about being at a Beltane gathering while pregnant was how I felt somehow excluded, as if being already engaged in reproducing, I wasn't someone who would respond to touch, comfort, and attention. As if all the sensory pleasures of the day were off limits to me, either redundant or inappropriate. That struck me as being woefully anti-erotic.

April gets a really bad rap, for such a beautiful month. Spring is officially on, and every day brings another example of the Earth's awakening. In my neighborhood, the first bulbs are popping out—hyacinth, grape hyacinth, snowdrop and crocus. The dandelions are showing up, of course, and suddenly the robins and wrens are joined by woodpeckers and blackbirds. Every day the clouds dapple a brilliant blue sky, and bring in a sorely needed sleety rain. But there are daily reminders of why TS Eliot once wrote, “April is the cruelest month.” He was referring to Easter, to the sacrifice of the Christian God and his resurrection. April has been the time of tragedies, of uprisings, assassinations and shootings. It is tax season and therefore makes us account for ourselves (and who enjoys that, really?). In many ways, April compels us toward hard paths and tough choices, to make sacrifices and commitments. April pushes us out of our comfort zones, in order that we may grow and aspire.

One of the best known April traditions is that of the April Fool, a tradition of misrule where pranks and practical jokes are tolerated. In France, “le poisson d'Avril” or April fish, was a gullible person sent upon a fool's errand. Much like the Fool of the Tarot card, representing pure potential and possibility, all things are contained in that moment of setting out. Courage necessary to take that first step, to step out of the safety of what we have known, and venture forth. It is a leap of faith, a deliberate giving up of control and surrendering to the Universe. The Fool card often depicts the Fool about to go off a cliff to represent the free fall of surrender. This movement, out of what's familiar and comfortable, into the unknown, can be as scary and jarring as a fall, but it can bring about tremendous growth and profound transformation. Sometimes this movement is precipitated by a Fool's errand—we follow an intuition, against all logic, or circumstances around us force us to change, or we find ourselves swept along by powers we cannot control. When everything around us is “going crazy,” we fight to regain control and resist the letting go that is called for. That loss of control is maddening; it feels dangerous and threatening to us. And so it is! It is threatening to the old patterns and systems of our lives. It is threatening to our masks and facades, to the games we play, to all our ego attachments. Departing from the safety of the known path is “crazy.” It flies in the face of logic to deliberately embrace risk when we have achieved safety. But we are often driven to choose risk. And in that irrational movement, incredible amounts of energy is released. That energy is what renews the Earth in Spring, and what renews us as well.

When I was a child growing up in Michigan, the seasonal adage of March coming in like lion and going out like a lamb was taught to us as a divination. IF March came in like a lion, cold and stormy, it would leave with lamb-like warmth and gentleness, perfect for Easter time. And year after year, I saw that March 1 was often a stormy sleety mess but by March 31 the cherry blossoms were about ready to pop.

But the reverse was also true: if March came in like a lamb, it would leave like a lion. And some years, we would have a sudden inexplicable warm snap towards the end of winter. There would be warmer air and clear skies when there should still be storms, and March would come in Springlike and inviting. And sure enough, March 31 would be wracked with tornadoes and electrical storms, going out very much like a lion.