There is so much mystical Irish history woven through the seasons that it couldn’t all fit within the pages of Threads of Passage. Last week I shared a glimpse of Lughnasadh, in a deleted scene where Padraig schools Marve on the fire festival and its ancient roots. Today I’m opening another doorway, one into the quiet, powerful mystery of the autumnal equinox and a deleted scene with Brigid and Dermot. These “deleted scenes” may very well find their home in Echoes of Passage, which will arrive on Amazon in the spring of 2026. But for now, let’s walk the lane with Brigid and Dermot and feel the turning of the year.
A Deleted Scene from Threads of Passage
Brigid and Dermot walked the quiet lane toward High Street, the last of the summer warmth lingering in the air. The evening light fell in long amber streaks across the stone walls, and the hush of the season’s turning seemed to press around them.
“Do you feel it, Brigid?” Dermot asked, his voice low, as if not to disturb the moment. “The way the light and the dark are equal now, as though the whole earth is pausing between breaths?”
She nodded. “My mother used to say the equinox was when the veil began to grow thin. That you could hear the voices of those who came before us if you truly listened.”
Dermot smiled, a touch wistful. “Aye. And the old ones spoke of the Cailleach stirring, her hand reaching out from the shadows of winter. She scatters stones from her apron and shapes the very hills, reminding us that all things must change, all things must rest.”
Brigid shivered, though the evening was mild. “I wonder why it’s not celebrated like Samhain or Beltane.”
Dermot thought quietly for a moment. “But it has its quiet power, doesn’t it? Harvest gathered, balance restored, a time to look within. I once put my thoughts into a few lines. Would you hear them?”
Brigid inclined her head, and Dermot recited softly as the dusk deepened:
“Stone and sun in fleeting measure,
Day and night in equal stand,
The harvest yields its fleeting treasure,
Gift of sky and gift of land.
Cailleach stirs, her cloak descending,
Summer’s song grows faint and thin,
Yet in the dark there lies a mending,
The year begins its turn within.”
Brigid let the silence linger after his words, the rhythm of the poem carrying the weight of centuries. “It feels like a prayer,” she whispered.
“Perhaps it is,” Dermot replied. “A prayer for balance, for gratitude, and for what lies ahead.”
Reflections on the Irish Equinox
The Autumnal Equinox—Cónocht an Fhómhair or Meán Fómhair (pronounced kuh-nock-tuh nuh and myawn fo-er) in Irish, is a hinge in the wheel of the year, a quiet pause when the world holds its breath. For a fleeting moment, day and night are equals, balanced in a way that reminds us of how rare true harmony can be.
In the old stories, this turning belongs to the Cailleach (pronounced KAIL-yak), the ancient crone whose cloak carries the chill of winter. She is not to be feared but heeded, for she embodies the truth of the seasons: that all things ripen, all things fade, and wisdom is found in the letting go.
Even the stones remember her. At sacred places like Loughcrew, the rising sun threads its golden needle through cairn passages, striking carvings that have waited centuries for this very alignment. In that light, the earth and sky seem bound together in a secret known only to the ancients and the wind.
And while the myths whisper of goddesses and sunlit stones, the people of the land have always marked the day in simpler ways: with feasts from the fields, with offerings of thanks, with the warmth of bread fresh from the oven. For the equinox is not just about endings, but gratitude for what has been gathered, and trust in what is yet to come.
The equinox drifts upon Ireland like a soft shawl, neither loud nor showy like Samhain or Lughnasadh, but quietly insistent, asking us to notice the balance, to bow to the mystery, and to give thanks for the harvest of our lives.
Ways to Celebrate the Equinox
This year, the Autumnal Equinox arrives on September 22 at 12:19 p.m. (Mountain time) If you feel called to honor this turning of the year, here are some simple rituals inspired by Irish tradition:
- 🍯 Leave a sweet for the fairies, honey, bread, or fruit, at the edge of your garden or tucked beneath the shelter of a tree. In Ireland’s old ways, such gifts were not given lightly but with reverence, for the fair folk are keepers of the hidden world, guardians of threshold places where light and shadow meet. To leave them sweetness is to honor the unseen, to say, we remember you, we thank you, walk kindly with us as the days shorten. It is an act as much for the heart as for the fairies themselves, an outward sign of gratitude for the harvest, a reminder that what we gather is never solely our own. By sharing a little of our abundance, we acknowledge the mystery that threads through soil and season, binding us to earth, sky, and spirit alike.
- 🪨 Place a stone on a cairn or simply rest one on your windowsill. Stones hold memory; they have outlasted empires and carried the weight of time itself. To lay one down is to mark a moment, to honor balance, to whisper, I was here, and I remembered. Even a pebble on the sill becomes a quiet vow to steady yourself as the seasons turn.
- 🕯️ Light a candle at dusk. Watch the flame flicker as twilight deepens, and let it draw forth the things you are ready to release. Old griefs, stale fears, habits that no longer fit—let them drift into the growing dark, as if the night itself has promised to carry them away. In the candle’s glow remains only what is essential: a softer heart, a steadier light.
- ✍️ Take up your pen and write, be it a poem, a single line, or a wandering journal entry, about what balance means in your life just now. Writing is a way of tethering the intangible; what feels fleeting becomes real once it lives on the page. You may find that your words reveal not only what you seek to balance, but what already roots you in steadiness.
- 🥖 Share food with those you love. Bake a loaf of bread, simmer a pot of stew, or pass a basket of apples and blackberries around the table. These simple fruits of the harvest are more than nourishment; they are a reminder that abundance is sweetest when shared. In the breaking of bread and the laughter of companions, the equinox finds its truest meaning.
Closing Thought
The Irish equinox isn’t about spectacle but about subtle shifts. It’s the hush before the long nights, the wisdom of balance, the mystery of thresholds.
✨ How will you honor the balance of light and dark this season?