Crackling leaves are burning
transformed from life to death
The crow calls out relentlessly
to those unseen and
The Crone’s outstretched hand
pulls me tightly to her breast
The air chills at her touch
Long icy fingers tapping out
the heart beat of life’s pulse within
The solemn silence of darkness
The pause of silent breath
Power and strength drawn
from the sinewy strands of time
Quartered path of gravel and stone
Flesh and blood
Moonlight and stars
The wellspring of Earth
The light of the cosmos above
I tremble within Her embrace
Form giving way to the formless
Mind swirling within the waters of insight
Sight pierces the veil, the
Road cautiously chosen
Knowledge of the unknown becomes
the heat of my desire and
The quickening spark waiting in fertile darkness
pulls me towards rebirth into a place of Light.
The air is chilling and leaves are turning. The smell of wood in fireplaces and the comfort of snuggling deeply into warm covers promises the call of late Fall and the rising of the Crone’s power as Samhain nears. Enjoy these beautiful Autumn days.
The Magickal Pen 