Mabon arrives not with fanfare but with golden light and long shadows.

It is the time of the Autumn Equinox—the day the scales hang level between dark and light. But more than that, it is a threshold of soul. A moment that invites stillness not only in the air but within us.

Mabon moves gently. It does not demand. It offers. A basket of ripened things. A breath between tasks. A question asked by the falling leaf: What will you keep, and what must return to the earth?

In the Celtic tales, the figure of Mabon—the Divine Youth, son of the Mother—was taken into the dark and later retrieved. His story reminds us that some parts of ourselves can only be reclaimed by walking through mystery. And this, too, is Mabon’s gift: not only the gathering of grain but the gathering of insight. The harvesting of what has grown inside us—quiet courage, quiet grief, quiet knowing.

In our homes, this season often calls for small acts with large meaning.

A handful of acorns placed on the windowsill. A loaf of bread shared in remembrance. A piece of fruit laid at the base of an old tree. Not because these things are required—but because they restore the thread of reciprocity that ties us to the land, the season, and each other.

This is also a time when creative hands turn toward hearth and offering. Apples become pies and preserves. Leaves are stitched into garlands. Dried herbs, seeds, and late flowers are woven into wreaths—not for display but for marking the shift and anchoring the sacred in the everyday.

And as the light thins, we begin to feel it—what’s coming. The shimmer of veils. The softening of boundaries.

But for now, Mabon holds us gently in its hands. It asks us not to prepare, not yet—but to notice. To witness what is full and ready. To honour what is already beginning to fall away. And to remember that between every bright blaze and long dark comes this moment of balance.

It’s a time well-suited for reflection. Not as a task to complete but as a practice to soften into. A walk through the woods without a destination. A moment by the fire where nothing needs to be decided. A glance at the garden where you simply notice what has lived, what has finished, and what continues to change.

This is the in-between—the breath between inhale and exhale. The stillness before the turn of the cycle. And in that stillness, there is wisdom.

Let this season teach you not through urgency but through presence. Let it remind you that balance is not about perfection—it’s about listening. Listening to the land, the body, the breath, and what they all already know: that every cycle has its moment of gathering and its time for letting go.

Mabon is that moment.

Let it hold you.

Blessed Mabon
Meán Fómhair sona daoibh
Equinox blessings

Curious to learn more about the Fall Equinox and how to cook, craft and celebrate with the season?

You can read all about it in the Mabon issue of In Cycle!