Samhain*

 

Midway between Equinox and Winter solstice. Tilted cauldron of Ceridwen. Pouring out the shadows. How many silences could there be? Liquid quietness murmuring Motherward. Ineffably One. The silence between breaths, the silence between stars, between thoughts, between electrons pulsing in the atoms of your blood, the silence in her eyes, where the ruined beauty of last summer's garden hollows into the kingdom of a solitary crow, whose call is neither sad nor joyful, but vigilant, awake, annunciation of descending darkness, mystery of the web of night, season of dancing bones.

The veil between the worlds is thin.

Bright to dark the seasons turn,

Green Man's fire in Jack O'Lantern,

Bright above now shines within.

Come dance in the circle of Samhaim,

Buds of Beltane burnished in frost.

Honor the Old Ones: nothing is lost.

Whatever is offered is born again.

*Pronounced "Sowin."

Photo: Farrell's Marsh, at the heart of the little town I live in.