Crowning Crone

Northern realms prepare for
a time of inward contemplation.
Leaves turn from green
to golden, crimson, and dusty brown.
Geese fly to warmer climes;
food is stored;
sustained warmth is planned;
and cold winds howl through frozen snows.

Raven stands guard over it all,
watching winter come from all.
Crone stands with this guide,
in rooted power and selfless pride.

She holds her space
in the midst of chaos,
and laughs from the depths
of deepest darkness.
Knowing she embraces and embodies
the eternal Circle
that connects us all.

Getting to the Root of Me

I crawl among the branches
  of the roots of my soul,
     as the worries of my thoughts
       take wing to the sky.
        I climb further down
          to the core of my being,
           and peer into the recesses
            of my inner darkness.
             And there I see an
              ancient crone
               sitting in repose,
                sipping from the nectar
                 of the gods,
                   clad in the robes
                    of the goddesses.
                      I commune with the
                         beginning of time,
                       the edge of the universe,
                      the center of existence.
                  And I see the thread of
                connection from me to my
             crone, to her crones all the
         way back...to me.
       I breathe deep and
      absorb them all into my heart center
    and hold them there
   as I climb back to the
  upper roots of the branches
 of my physicality.
 And return to here.
Now.

Autumn

Seeds planted in the Spring
sleep beneath a blanket of Earth
dreaming of coming bounty

Slowly they waken
stretching their arms to the Sun
releasing their potential to the World

Goddess Crone cradles the crops in her arms
Holding them in preparation for the goodness of the harvest

Days shorten and Summer wanes
Her hair becomes unkempt
She opens her arms in eternal Embrace
Loosening the fields to ripen to golden beauty
The orchards to grow to fruition

She unbinds her hair
Relinquishes her hold on previously unseen hues
Filling fields with crimson-gold, carnelian and scarlet
Until it's time to gather her bounty into our larders
Giving thanks for the goodness
And holding vigil in our lairs through the Dark of Winter