The late Solstice morning – peels back its blanket of fog – dank and heavy lays the earth,
Pulling back the covers – the Magpies and Crows – adventure square dance in the dearth!
Mr Blackbird scuttles – hanging out a herald – as the slow of my foot-falls come to pass,
A Buzzard patrols – out standing in its field – with the echo of the stream – a gambol en masse!
Going round the bend with the greet of morning – re-tracing my footsteps when I’m out of sight,
Wading through the leaves of rusting decay – with a dusting of grey beholding the light!
Sampling the still that lies beyond the gate – I breath in the peace that caresses the scene,
Silver Birch quills – with their Catkin frills – ghosting in their forms against the green!
With the dead off white grasses – skeleton trees – gathered in their masses – autumn dies its death,
Winter starts to creep – spreading it fingers deep – chilling on your every breath!
Hanging is the air – on a wind that isn’t there – drawn in the moment to the Bardic chair,
The Crows they chatter – of some impending matter – a small collective with a tale to share!
Welcome the Buzzard with its distant cry – piercing the silence of a distant sky!
With the quiet of the calm – working like a charm – capturing the mood for a final goodbye!
Robin appears to shadow our gathering – forever on the move with an attentive gaze,
Preparation musters with the flow of time – following the sun-wheel through its last of days!
A Shrew scales the corner post – down to the ground – taking casual shelter in the shed,
Oblivious to its audience collecting supplies – snuffling to and fro with its pointy head!
Mole hills scattered in a chain of mounds – woven round marker pegs in the Roundhouse floor,
Digging up an offering for a bowl of earth – while Robin wrestles with Holly berries all the more!
Gathering one and all where the lanterns lead – circling the trail before we come to rest,
Bonding links around the circle – with the tree of life – held in a bowl like a sheltered nest!
Impassioned are the verses when the speeches start – honouring celebration from the heart,
We recount the seasons as they passed on by – with history in the making a dying art!
With the turn of the hour – the Sun is retiring – with its last fading hold of light,
With the Sun and its setting on the year – as we welcome the onset of the longest night!
With the supporting lanterns dowsed in sympathy – with the final fade to black,
As the sun-wheel ends – we share the moment with our friends – and tomorrow we will be back!
Dawning is the new morning – as we gather without warning – re-born is the light of the day,
The Ancestral Flame – lives up to its name – having burned through the night – guiding the way!
The dazzle of its flicker – makes the heart thump quicker – adrenalin pumps a pulse for real,
With the rising of the Sun – when laughter feels like fun – with the re-birth of the new sun-wheel!
Disturbance awakes the slumber of a local Fox – burnt amber runs away up the eastern hill,
Sheltered by the peace of the Moon Garden – holding close a sanctuary – deep within the still!
Midday leans and bows as the Sun glows low – where the air it chills with the gentle breeze,
Weaving its threads through the dark red of the dogwoods – flowing slow through naked trees!
Robin calls by – with a twinkle in his eye – comprehending the Holly to be made into wreaths,
The berries row – with their beacon like show – open to invitation as the daylight breathes!
Gathering Ivy – the Mistletoe rests – held above the ground until it’s offered to all,
The wreaths they are completed by the man and his craft – as Robin watches the berries fall!
Igniting the lanterns that welcome an entrance – entering from the west and held in high regard,
The Crows they circle their meeting tree – spreading the news and changing the guard!
Flocks of Starlings – cluster in numbers – heading south for the winter from the frozen north,
With a nod from the knowing – the melody is growing and the snake of life goes forth!
We welcome the day – as it leads the way – the light of new beginnings – has come out to play,
Honouring the Ancestors and toasting our blessings – looking to the future holding sway!
Illumination for the seasons – doing the rounds with the fire-stick – the lanterns each in turn,
Sparking into lights – after the darkest of nights – honouring the new sun-wheel the lanterns burn!
We draw to our close – with the building greys – there’s a faint fine mist of rain to wash us clean,
There’s a Mistletoe gift – giving us all a lift – as we seek our future path of sight unseen!
A shower slow it moves on by – as we return the Grove to its view of everyday,
We gather our thoughts – as we gather our belongings – leaving the sun-wheel to roll away!