The first cold of autumn.

K this was written as refelction after a wiccan ritual and it has posted it int he paganism forum but Beat has asked i copy it here so Blame him

The first cold of autumn.


Harvest time has come and summer has gone.
A bundle of the first cutting from a wheat field lies on my altar.
They were cut with simple ceremony by hand,
Before the huge harvester took to the field to strip a years growth from the land.

Full dark seemed to come earlier this eve,
The windows are shut for the first night of many, against the first cold winds.
For days the Wheel of the year has edged closer and closer to the turning
To the last of its quarter and now it can be seen and felt to have moved on.

Berries that have been slowly ripening seem to swell suddenly, creating a startling contrast as the leaves that have started to discolor.
Trees can clear be seen to carry the seeds of future trees to come,
Just waiting for the winds to pick up and carry them on.

The earth is self seems to groan beneath the weight of growing things
Ready to be relieved of it’s bounteous burden, so that it may rest and be renewed.
For soon it will sleep beneath the first frost, it looks forward to the slumber that lies beyond Shamien, when the night closes around us and the toils for the year are done.

But that is still yet over a score of days a way and much to be done yet,
All the things that have been put off, that need attending to before the light fades.
But for now it is enough to sit and be, while savoring the contentment that the change has come and to sit eating an almost over ripe fruit knowing there is another year to come.

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