Equinox

 
The Sun bows to the Moon, trembling stars in a Spider's web, the Grail of Presence poised at my lips between out-breath and in. Golden harvest Wine spills over the rim into Darkness, the genuflection of time, when the Mother receives us through the fiery portal of a ruined Rose, her silent footsteps pale mushrooms of Midnight. Let Autumn come.

 

Art: The Divine Feminine, gouache on board by Tino Rodriguez