Changing of the Seasons by Barbara Carvallo

Autumn’s sweetness moves softly though Summer’s last days like a lover’s whisper. Flowers, dramatic and lustrous, hold the morning dew in reverent prayer. The elegant ballet of September days unfolds in rusty-gold and Earth tones. October, the holiest of all months, swells toward Samhain, and the Witches prepare to gather with the Crone.  In November, Mother Hecate dressed in royal purple, snowy-white hair streaming out to cover the landscape, turns the Wheel of the Seasons slowly toward Spring.  All of Nature, adepts of the Craft and magical creatures watch the Sacred and Great Divide for the gathering storms of Winter, chanting Her ballad in deepest devotion.

In the cool, still, velvety night,
By the dark of the moon in silver starlight,
The Crone raises Her cloak and takes to flight.

High above the slumbering, shadowy ground,
She sores through the trees without a sound,
For company a raven and a three-headed hound.

In a voice deep as darkness She begins to sing,

Ancient words of power with solemnity ring,
I am the Goddess; I am Magic on the Wing.

This post is dedicated to my dear friend and sister, Peno.  In solidarity and love.