my dear father was long winter’s Equinox; he mixed into mother mine; last Moon of the Year.
i remember this; their coupling made me. head in the sky and roots in the earth; i am Lily.
my feet have not travelled but these toes, in the soil, challenge cold Death. at your ending i will be there. i keep faith with your truth; a bodied spell to cast your soul out to lover and enemy the same. there are days when that is all i am, a funeral flower in a cave of gloom.
and depression dresses me.
but my breath was Cloud and i was drunk on Rain kissing my throat when Sun first rose. he is light reflecting beauty of the cosmos and bringer of life.
he turned the world, animated me, painted me. he held me still.
he drew me from my cave and created me as his wife. i empty out my mind in the strength of his zenith. i am joy.
myriad winged things pay court to me, paying for my stores with stories from places beyond my sight. i am their fragrant, excessive, plentiful perfume of survival. they fly slower, lower as Sun goes down. heat stays in the ground though autumn arrives spying for my secrets. there is the first footprint smell of damp that will lead to winter’s whispered myths of ending and decay.
tonight my five petals make a star against the night. as darkness starts I wait. with the rising night, from the silent hills, comes a whisper. the voice of Wind. from his first lullaby to his final storm he is the constant formless rebellion to the turning of the year.
tonight he promises dancing, asks me to leave my roots.