Hazel Moon | The Time of Turning
On the edge of summer’s last breath, Kirkwood Park holds still.
It is the approach of the Ninth Month, the Hazel Moon,
whose influence reached every creature
even the roots of the Century Tree.
Although the grass still wore its deep green coat and roses still bloomed,
the wind carried the faintest whiff of crisp, sweet apples.
Sunlight had grown heavy and slow
as if thinking of an early nap.
Mabel awoke, nose twitching and whiskers tingling,
just as the dark sky was streaked with first light,
as she often did on Remarkable Days.
She felt the rush of slipping into her beautiful new dress,
like a schoolgirl on the first day of school,
and gathered into her tiny basket the essentials one needed
when saying goodbye to one season and embracing the next:
Coneflowers to wish the butterflies safe travels
A crumb of honeycake for the field spirits
A twist of twine to tie the last summer blooms
Exactly nine hazelnuts to welcome wisdom and intuition
For it fell to Mabel, small but mighty,
to remind the Park
that the time had come to bid farewell to summer,
to reflect on the progress made this year,
and to celebrate the harvest of their efforts and dreams.
She approached the great Century Tree from the north
and paused beneath the branch
that stretched farthest into the meadow.
“Dearest Friend, it is I, Mabel, coming to you
with kind greetings and heartfelt admiration.
May I share this splendid morning with you?”
The leaves of the mighty Tree rustled,
nodding their approval,
welcoming the tiny mouse.
Mabel, after a polite curtsey,
circled the trunk clockwise
and sat at its base, breathing deeply
the scent of walnuts and moss.
She unpacked her gifts, smiling at the nine hazelnuts,
delighted to find two delicious bits of the fruit in the same shell.
One she ate for breakfast;
the other she tossed over her left shoulder,
confident that the silent wish she whispered would come true.
And so Mabel began to usher in the Time of Turning.
She climbed the highest branch of the Century Tree,
and with a beautiful, clear voice,
the courageous mouse, high above the Park,
sang out to all who could hear
the ancient Song of Autumn
passed down to her by her beloved grandmother,
as her grandmother had done before her.
The sound carried through the Park,
urging all to gather summer’s gifts
and ready their homes for the Long Winter.
When Lady Sarah heard Mabel’s song, she fluffed her tail,
for she was a posh, fancy sort of squirrel,
and, tying a crisp linen apron over her everyday frock,
began to prepare her cupboards for the nuts she would soon gather.
Wattson, busy in his steam-powered workshop, paused and smiled,
glancing at his woodstove, cold and silent in the corner.
Mabel’s song filled him with eager anticipation,
of stacking fragrant kindling in the stove’s cavity
and enjoying the warm glow of fire on a crisp autumn evening.
As she was practicing her hopscotch, Ella heard Mabel’s sweet soprano voice.
Not everyone passing through the Park could hear its creatures,
but those with an open heart (or those the animals trusted) often could.
Ella knew the voice belonged to her dear friend, Mabel Mouse,
and the sound filled her with delight, a secret she could tuck deep inside her heart
like a treasure meant just for her.
Then her mother called her in; it was time for breakfast.
The Century Tree, knowing some would not hear,
signaled to the First Leaf that the Time of Turning had begun.
For just as Mabel had her place in the order of things,
so too did the great Tree.
It provided the grandest signal to the world
that autumn had arrived.
By the end of the day,
when the hot sun began its descent
and the moon rose,
the First Leaf gently changed color,
fulfilling the ancient ritual in splendid fashion.
Willing to sacrifice itself, as it always knew it would,
ready to let go in the fall
so that the next First Leaf might emerge in the spring.
But there was time left,
for this was the season
when the First Leaf,
and all of the Century Tree’s leaves,
and most of the leaves in Kirkwood Park,
became the most brilliant versions of themselves.
Reds, bright golds, deep burgundies, and beautiful browns
delighted the senses and inspired the most cherished activities.
Soon there would be bonfires, hayrides, pumpkin carving, and pie baking,
celebrations throughout the Park,
memories made that lasted several lifetimes.
As Mabel reached the end of her song,
she returned down to the roots,
offering thanks for the Tree’s height and strength.
The Century Tree whispered to her, through the rustle of its leaves,
which trembled with excitement and anticipation,
“You’re always welcome.”
For change can be exciting,
and the end is never really the end —
only the wheel turning, the cycle of life and of season.
And so, as the leaves begin to turn,
I send you a blessing of courage:
May you face each season with grace,
knowing that the most brilliant version of you, Sweet Friend,
is yet to come.
If this story touched your heart, dear one, there’s more to come.
You’re warmly invited to stay awhile in Kirkwood Park,
Your presence here means more than you know.
For now, Fare-well, Dear Friend!
Lisa Marks
Storyteller, Kirkwood Park