On this wine bowl of pure silver— destined for the home of Heracleides, where discerning taste and elegance reside— I've engraved flowers, streams and thyme, and in their midst a handsome youth, naked and erotic, dangling his leg in the water still. I prayed, memory, that I'd find in you an ally strong enough to render the face of this youth, whom I loved, just as it once was. It will not be easy, as it has been some fifteen years from the day he fell, a soldier, in the battle of Magnesia.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."