#to me and smells of silbury and all folkloric jacks

[afieldinengland]

blessed solstice 🌞

#may your nights be warmer from here on out #celebrating in the old ways with wax and fire and sacrifice. mighty god of the sun if you had not sent winter-proud pan to find me in my #coldest of winters i would have starved. this yule i come to you naked anointed and dancing #as the boy you brought in from colder gods but also as a young man fledged. stone-witness and constant devotee to your rite #laughing across the fields. in wiltshire the flame still flickers in the fen #ruddy cheeked mother nature raises her ale and her babes as the winter relents its hold. mother moon sings sweetly and takes a lover on her #lap— already capped as dancing boy for her meeting at the henge with teaser-painted father-sun tomorrow. gold-tinted beauty who leans close #to me and smells of silbury and all folkloric jacks #my joy. my joy. pagan— pagan. ‘i am woman and man— light with darkness— i am nothing special nothing pure— i am mud and flame’ #dark true impure and dissonant. old winter god looks at me from across the fields wistful like a lover who blew it. the lovely world #crossed with wax and water and wine and held by his lordship the sun. hip-sanctified #here now the hearth will burn until we ring in fine imbolc in all its splendour. the wheel of the year ever sacred turns and turns and turns