Today is the third of the four great Celtic fire festivals, specifically the Festival of the Harvest. Lughnasadh is one of the most written about holidays of the ancient Celtic religions, and traditions have survived even as other traditions marking the passing of the seasons have faded.

Lughnasadh marks the beginning of the end of summer. At Midsummer, the turning point from the light half of the year to the dark, it was still hard to believe that winter was coming soon. Now, as we begin to think of school time, fall clothes, and apples arriving, we also begin to feel the night descending earlier, the cold settling in during the evening and lingering through the morning.

Traditionally, Lughnasadh was begun by Lugh in memory of his foster-mother Tailtiu. Her funeral feast was accompanied by games, handfastings, and other celebrations of life, even in the face of the death that would soon come.

Today, when I woke up, the sunlight was a strange hue of orange; the color the air turns at sunset. This light lasted through the day, even through the great covering of clouds that hid the rest of the sky and gave the sun a shimmering cloak. My first guess was that smoke from a fire somewhere was high in the atmosphere, causing the strange glow. My second thought was, “This is the light I imagine when I think of (my post-apocalyptic novel) Wake. Even as clouds cover the sky, the sun shines through.”

Filmmakers and photographers call the light at sunset “magic hour”–it is ideal for shooting, as it casts a rich glow over skin, and brings out enough shadow to provide texture without overwhelming contrast in the final picture. Today was one long magic hour, and perhaps it’s not inappropriate.

My day began quietly, as the night before had been anything but. But my mind was rested now, and as I buttered a muffin and spread honey on it, I shared my thanks for the day, and the night before, to Brighid, and shared my breakfast with Lugh and her, in his honor. I was expecting to be able to offer more at dinner, with an expected meal of fresh produce, bread, and blueberry and nectarine cobbler.

As usual, plans went awry, or so I thought until I sat down later and thought about it. My family and I ordering a pizza and sharing our meal with our neighbors across the courtyard and next door. We sat and drank several bottles of wine as my small cousin drew with chalk on the dry concrete, the faded pictures from weeks ago still present in the absence of the rain I’ve always expected from Seattle. As our dogs wandered around looking for scraps, and I helped clear up the bowls of free gelato the pizza place had generously given us (the entire meal was, in fact, free–everything arrived late), I took a moment and looked at the setting sun, the light no longer strange at this hour. And I realized that the day was everything I could have asked for. Lughnasadh is indeed about sitting back with a glass of wine, sharing food with friends, sitting back and letting the accomplishments of the week (of the summer) wash over you. Celebration of what you have done. Rest.

I sit here now and prepare to go to sleep. In the morning, I have a phone interview with a place I was not expecting to be interested in me. Again, I thank Brighid and Lugh for showing me what the meaning of harvest can be. I cannot be anxious about the outcome: I can only do my best. And that is enough, for that alone is worth the effort. My reward is being able to sit back and say, “Yes.”

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