from the Ninth Wave Arts caretakers

There have been some incredible phenomena unfolding overhead in recent weeks. Supermoons, asperitas clouds, aurora borealis, and meteor showers have all graced the sky. It has been a time to look up—to widen the gaze in an effort to take in the whole scene.

A celestial reminder of the mysteries that live beyond understanding, inviting an expansion of vision… and of dreaming.

The full moon at this time of year casts a beautiful silver glow, illuminating the landscape and inviting introspection. It becomes more visible now, shining through branches that have already let go of their leaves. A quiet reminder of what autumn carries—the great letting go—urging a release of what no longer serves.

This energy of release feels essential as the season turns toward the stillness of winter.

With so much wonder overhead, it has been easy to lose track of where to rest the attention. And yet, the wild turkeys have kept that gaze from drifting too far skyward.

All those small chicks from the spring have made it through the summer. Now they move together as a group of nine, following the same circuit their mother once showed them. They emerge from the forest, pause to explore the field, make their way to the yard and side forest, then continue along the backyard before circling back out front.

This is home.

And as they move, they tend the land—eating grubs and ticks along the way. Their presence offers a reminder of community, of resilience, and of the quiet power of consistency.

Foxes have been moving through as well, their red coats striking against the yellows, oranges, and deepening reds of the season. They leap through the leaves, catching voles, preparing for winter—gathering what is needed for warmth and survival. There is something both sly and playful in their movement, resourceful and alive.

They remind us to make the most of what this season offers.

Deer, too, have been appearing earlier than usual—grazing in the field and along the forest edges. Perhaps a sign that winter is closer than it seems. A gentle nudge toward preparation.

The days are growing shorter. The air, cooler. The energy, shifting.

Samhain marks this threshold—between harvest and winter, between life and death, between what is seen and what is unseen.

This is a time to honour what has been gathered, to recognize strengths, to tend to what will carry forward, and to embrace the turning.

And also—to remember to look up, now and again.
To wonder.
To dream.
To meet the vastness of the sky, and the larger story it holds.