Chorus – Now is Lammas, Summer Harvest Bind the sheaves tight and carry the grain home. Feed the children, all the family Food and plenty throughout the fall.
Call it Lammas, Lugh or Lughnasadh, but gather closely the first fruits of harvest. We’ve no fear now, of want or famine, by the love of the God and Goddess. As the long days all grow shorter, and the Horned One, He wanes and weakens, We have plenty, and good eating, through His dying to live again.
As the sun sets, so the moon will rise. Praise the Lady and light the fire. From Her body, and His sacrifice, comes our harvest and our lives. Join your voices, spirits and your hearts. Bring your love now, and join together. For the harvest it is gathered, and the time for the dance is come.
Brutally hot, today, in the MidAtlantic, on one of the strongest, most magical Full Moons I've ever known.
I spent most of it inside, running out for just a few moments to harvest sage, harvest thyme, harvest basil, harvest lavender, water brugmansia, water lilacs, water even the rosemary.
I spent most of it at the farmers' market buying tomatoes and I spent most of it making gazpacho and tiny, cold potatoes, stuffed with sour cream, caviar, and chives, for tomorrow's gathering.
I spent most of it at my altar, rocking, chanting, overcome with this Moon's magic, lighting candles and incense and smudge sticks, running my roots deep into the warm Virginia clay, twisting around the oak roots and maple roots and crape myrtle roots and birch roots and gardenia roots and cryptomeria roots. I spent most of it grounding and wrapping my roots around the foundation of this cottage, around the deep roots of the wisteria-covered shed, around the etheric roots of the fire pit.
I spent most of it knitting a warm, winter sweater for G/Son with handspun, hand-died yarn, yarn the color of burning embers, warm yellows, shining sunsets. With every row, I knit in safety, glamour, good health, warmth.
I spent most of it writing legal prose, figuring out the best way to describe the issues in a case, explaining evidence, being spare. I love that work. I really do. It's mostly what I was born to do.
I spent most of it watching a half-dozen episodes of Dark Shadows. I began a few years ago with Episode 1 (Victoria on a train, Elizabeth at the window) and I'm now up to the I Ching and Quentin Collins. When I finish, I'm going to go back to the beginning.
I spent most of it blogging.
I spent most of it realizing how much I love my life.
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 . . . ."