The Equinox and Mykhailo Kotsiubynsky. Part II

In Japan, the Autumnal Equinox Day, 秋分の日 (Shūbun no Hi), falls around the moment when day and night become nearly equal in length. This period is also part of お彼岸 (Ohigan), a special time for remembering one’s ancestors and honoring the places connected with them. In nature’s calendar, it marks a distinct boundary: summer comes to an end, and the earth begins to move to a different rhythm.

In the works of Ukrainian writer Mykhailo Kotsiubynsky, autumn is often experienced as precisely such a boundary. It brings its own colors, fragrances and harvest, while already carrying the next season within it.

In the story “For the Common Good,” the vineyard lives alongside the people who care for it. A summer of labor is followed by the grape harvest and then by the time to prepare the vines for winter. Working the land continues what previous generations once did: the earth preserves their experience and memory.

In “On Trust,” Kotsiubynsky leaves autumn bathed in golden light. After the harvest, the clear air, yellow leaves, sunlight and ripened trees create a space in which human relationships also enter a new state. Here, autumn is a season of culmination and change.

In “The Debut,” autumn appears differently: it “melts like a wax candle,” becoming more transparent as rain and wind arrive and the evenings grow longer. Nature gradually releases summer, transforming the entire space surrounding the human world.

And in the lyrical prose cycle “From the Depths,” Kotsiubynsky observes what matters most: even an autumn plant preserves the hope of life within every bud and will one day produce a new shoot.

Kotsiubynsky’s autumn therefore resonates with the very feeling of 秋分 (Shūbun): the end of one season is simultaneously the beginning of the next. The harvest preserves the labor of the past, nature prepares for winter, and within an autumn bud, the coming spring is already present.