Erraid Equinox: time and space to look inward, outward, at each other, and at the surrounding landscape and the sea.

It seemed like autumn had instantly arrived after the equinox. This year, not a gradual change, but a shift overnight. We celebrated the equinox exuberantly with stories by candlelight and a wood fire at Crafts & Drafts in Stevensons, a harvest festival, more bonfires, and autumnal food on the pier on a windless evening.

More winds picked up, including Storm Amy, and colder days arrived. More moisture in the air, dew on the grass, and condensation on the windows.

Autumn brings us shorter days and longer evenings. Autumn also means we’re moving out of season and receiving fewer guests. We seem to be using our “light hours” more consciously and letting the evenings nourish us with deep conversations, candlelit dinners, books, games, seed lists, garden plans, dream recipes, songs, knitting, and, of course, that much-needed sleep.

With plans and dreams still to come for at least light years, we must now surrender to darkness and silence. Birds are coming closer, dolphins are showing themselves again, playing around the boat, and seals want to join our morning swim.

At first, there was a slight resistance to this change and the departure of summer, but now, after “Amy’s 4-day power cut gift,” we happily embrace this time of retreat and slow recovery, this time and space to look inward, outward, at each other, and at the landscape and the sea—this Erraid time.