I call it Lughnasadh but really for me this is the first of the pagan harvests. You can't have a single harvest festival because different fruits and grains ripen at different times. Each harvest is a step in the right direction as the year is changing gear, going downhill towards winter. We shouldn’t be surprised, it happens every year.

Yesterday I spent time in the garden as I’d hoped, with a book of poetry and a blinding headache (the two are not related, I assured you.) Has anyone here read any of John Clare’s poetry? He was an early 19th century writer, known as the Ploughboy Poet, but sadly ended his life in an asylum. I think it was the writer Edward Thomas who said of Clare ‘To read him is to love him.’ And it’s true.

In the evening I went moon-hunting with my camera and got some more photos which I shall try and post up here later today.

And now, this morning, the sun shines bright and asks us to celebrate. Light a candle to the fast departing sun, meditate, think, take time for stillness. My dogs have the right idea – they are meditating in the kitchen as I write. The snoring is almost sending me back to sleep!

I have a shrine to the Green Man and Maiden in my hallway above the fireplace. (Yes, it’s an unusual hallway). Each season I decorate with different flowers, fruits, candles and ribbons. This too is a way of celebrating. It’s way too much fun to be combined to just December!

I love following the festivals of the year. They help me to keep things in perspective. They support my life with a framework of weather, activities and meditations. They bring a sense of order and perspective. At Lughnasadh we can talk all we like about the god departing and the goddess grieving, but it’s also about what we see within our own lives – the things we keep and those we leave behind.

We owe it to ourselves to have a choice, but sometimes that choice can itself be confusing. It’s a bit like going into the supermarket and being confronted with endless boxes of washing powder. If we’re not careful, choice can paralyse us so we end up doing nothing.

I can't tell you the exact meaning of Lughnasadh - nobody can. It means different things to each of us. While many of my beliefs have their roots in the past, I don't want a pagan faith that's little more than a re-enactment society. I want something that will stand by me and see me through. And that means doing work of my own each festival, sometimes embarking on painful voyages of self discovery and self awareness. How else can I make progress?

So, yes, I grieve for the end of summer. It may not seem like autumn yet, but I know it’s on its way. Or as Ted Hughes said of autumn, ‘It’s tail was an icicle.’ Autumn comes because autumn must. Just as we grow old – because we must. We are, after all, growing older from the moment we are born. We seem to be terrified of age nowadays. We try to fight it off with surgery, botox, whatever. And yet at the end of the day we know it’s inevitable. And sometimes the methods of fighting ageing give more unpleasant results than ageing itself.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not planning on growing old (older) gracefully – disgracefully more like! There are still things I want to do, want to see, learn and discover. Just like the soul of the year, it’s our mind that must stay young, the outward casing (the body, the seasons) must follow their course. The seasons will come back again. And so shall we.

Seeking the Green by Tylluan Penry, published soon by Capall Bann. For more info - watch this space!