Goddesses of the Dark Days

Yup--I rarely come back from the stables without a poem of some sort. Here's the latest--there are no horses in it, but those who love autumn and Celtic mythology will like this. Hope you enjoy it:

Goddesses of the Dark Days

Mountains burn with the last pale flames of autumn—

Burnished red, smoked orange, antiqued yellow.

Boreas, bringer of winter and the cold north wind, has breathed

Upon the utmost peaks the first snow, the first blessing of spring water.

Persephone is gone to the Lord of death—the last of the burgeoning pumpkins

Slowly waken to Demeter’s grief. Dry leaves whisper against stone and fence,

Whisper of the Dark Mother who walks among the dry forest.

A circlet of oak leaves crowns her nutmeg hair; she fingers the acorns in her hands.

The other women come: silver-haired and gray-eyed Beira, haq queen of the dark days

Between Samhain and Beltaine; doe-eyed Brighid who tends the hearth and cattle;

Blue-eyed Ceridwen who sings poetry and music into the hearts of men;

And dark, quiet Boann, the mother of rivers. They have all come, singing, chanting,

Walking through groves of pine and the aspen with yellow leaves bright

Against the first mountain snow. Into my garden I will go under a full moon,

Fill a silver chalice with water and watch the goddesses breathe runes across

The pooled surface in ripples and in laced, wind-driven shadows across pumpkins.