The Turning of the Wheel
It’s July and Georgia is baked dry. And yet, in the early morning hour I can feel the approach of autumn; taste it in the air like brush of a kiss against my lips. The summer equinox has passed and the light is changing as Lughnasadh approaches — the first of three harvest holidays the witches keep.
I will dye my hair red today, one streak of white at the temple to mark my years. There is a familiar restlessness in my soul, a promise of transition. The dark is gathering, hardly noticed and yet I smile because I know what others do not see.
A crow calls from above and is answered by another. The Morrigan draws closer to her daughter and I greet her happily. She and I understand there is comfort in the darkness.
It is coming yet again. The wheel is turning. The voices of nature will be clearer to my ears after Lugh’s day has been marked. Then Mabon’s kiss will linger, tasting of cinnamon and nutmeg, and I will delay a while at his table.
On the last harvest day, I will dress with great care and Samhain will embrace me as a lover would — wild and reckless inside a leaf-strewn wood. He will not stay though he is my favorite.
I smile again and leave the crows to chatter among themselves for alas, this morning is only a blush of what is to come.