The night is dark and still,
In the circle's centre,
a fire removes the chill,
The grove has gathered for autumn,
The time is now here,
She now makes her presence felt by all.
With the light of the fire comes other signs,
The wind in the trees,
felt by all, around this sacred space,
The earth below, and, the gentle rain overhead,
All gathered as one to feel it together.
ALL ENTER IN PRECIOUS SILENCE,
WITHOUT A WORD THEY TREAD,
THE SACRED GROUND,
TOWARDS THE LIGHT IN THE EAST,
WITH RIGHT HAND RAISED IN GREETING,
SILENT MOUTHS SPEAK A SOLEMN PRAYER.
The light in the east,
Made by a single candles glare,
In the memory of hope and unity,
A remnant of better times in lives before,
Now seemingly gone forever,
But with trust and truth, to come again.
The festival then follows,
A time of celebration,
Then a time of recognition,
Of the next celestial season,
For all is in harmony,
All is oneness on the wheel of time.
For this the light in the east burns forever,
Now stronger,
Now much brighter than ever before,
For the light of truth shines,
And it burns so bright,
Know this now will never change.
In Memory of a OBOD Grove meeting near Pendle Hill
