Autumn Equinox - that Sermon in full

Was it Kipling who referred to Autumn as "a time of mists and mellow fruitfulness"? Once again the Equinox has crept upon us, as we have pursued the ancient Beaker activities of picking blackberries, pressing cider, chopping wood and chasing Morris Men around the orchard with pointy sticks whenever they appear.
But I digress. This is a time to celebrate the fruit of the earth. The golden apples tell us of a time of the first light that Eden saw play. We dance in the dew of morning, before retreating for a mustard footbath to ensure we don't lower our resistance in this time of swine flu. We watch the rooks and seagulls as they follow the shining plough. And all the time we are aware that the year is drawing towards its death.

This is a time of balance. Of uncertainty. Of things being, and then yet not quite being after all. As of when a curtain is drawn and the outlines in the room become blurred - just before the police turn up. Do you feel it? Do you feel the sharpness in the air on a late September morning? The leaves as they hurtle to their doom - destined only for the cycle of decay and rebirth, decay and rebirth? Do you see the blight in the apple that thas been left too long? The wasps that infest the orchard all buzz out their message of desolation.
And every day the darkness grows. The sun rises a little further south, giving up the north to the powers of the dark. The darkness grows like a pool of ink, spreading out across the darkling hemisphere. The nights grow longer. We remember tales of ghosts and spirits, dragons and goblins.

Throw down your hi-viz! Why celebrate the darkness? Why embrace the despair and oppression? Why dance as the lights go out across the continent? The Dark! The Dark! Aaagggh!

(the Archdruid runs from her Sermoning Chair out into the fields).