harvest moon rises on samhuinn night.
the moon full and blazing red,
jacks lanterns light the path, smiling and patterned.
children and adults dress in the garb of their ancestors and monsters feared.
travel the wailing wall between the realms.
the veil has thinned.
the harvest moons rises higher still,
fading from blaze red to hunters ash.
the candle wicks burn in jacks lanterns,
as he guides us in the wilds.
Seeking as we may what,
our harvest this samhuinn.
the hunters ash rises and pales,
to the silvery slip of the goddess face.
the light washes all in silver hue,
a hush about the land enters.
amid the laughter of children,
the smells of soul-cakes and ale,
the druids and witches convene,
jacks lanterns guides them along their path to seek,
ancestor spirits and elder gods.
to glean their knowledge as children sleep.
round the fires they go,
chanting and singing, weaving to and fro,
a magic spell so cast, in the waning light of jacks lantern still
and guided by the light of pale silver hue.
the gods and spirits dance with us now,
hidden by our own masks and disguises, the revelry grows to fever pitch.
we can feel them with us now. merry and lithe.
ecstatic to be loved and revered again.
laughing they dance and drink and share stories round the fire,
sharing hidden knowledge through a well place punchline,
or sad story of loss.
The harvest moon begins to set taking on a golden hue,
as the veil parts in early dawn,
that time twixt the realm when moon and sun meet.
in the hearths and hearts all is quiet as the elder gods and spirits slip away,
leaving boons and gifts to those mortals sleeping the groves and circles,
round the embers of dying samhuinn fires and the dead jacks lanterns.
The last summer star fades into an azure sky,
as we all awaken to the dying summer,
and celebrate the birth of winter in the between times known as
samhuinn the second harvest, the fall of the year.
and look forward to the coming winter ,
with warm hearts and hearths. as our harvest was bountiful and plenty.