Turns the Year, Turns the Wheel:
Dusk lengthens, and the wind-whirled birling leaves
fall faster now, as days draw in apace.
An evening crow sits high upon her tree
to watch and call throughout the gathering dark.
Days remain mild yet, autumn so warm,
denying Samhain’s scents, with roses flowering,
and colours blending summer days and dusk:
Deep pink of cosmos, gold of fallen leaves.
A hedgehog grunts through heaped leaves, rustling spines,
goldfinches chime night greetings to their charm
and great skeins fly, in dusk, almost unseen,
their sounds upon the night winds bourne, to herald
winter’s coming, harbingers of cold.
This night, our candles flame and bonfires blaze,
a light before the dark, remembrance yet
of spring, of youth, of glowing summer light
as we turn to the dark of sleep, of dreams,
dormancy, reflection, visions past
and future, inward seeking for each promise
of memory and hope:
and so we know
that at midwinter, light will come again.
©J Blain 2014