Cold Time Moon, this is your chime
Across the landscape of the year,
Your breath as white as mistletime
And the land-faring gulls that sear
The sky’s blue remembered sea,
When the hours hang in spiders’ frozen filigree.
Moon of Long Nights, all is drawn
To stillness, the cold sun’s gold
Hangs low in the sky as dawn
Too soon becomes dusk in winter’s hold.
Towards solstice, when the sun stands still,
The day is a drop of mercury, eerily tranquil.
Ashes Fire Moon, leaves are suspended
Each moment hanging by a thread
Broken silks that can’t be mended,
Pendulums stilled by winter’s tread,
But the ivy on the bark is there to see,
A poised but living marquetry.
Birch Moon, your captured trees are stirred
Only by the slow exhalation
Of a breeze, or a restless bird.
But the oak is aflame with quiet elation
As the yew tree, above as below,
Elongates each bough like a winter shadow.
Bear Moon, now is the time to dream
How summer was, how summer flowed
In every ray and vein and stream
And will again – even when the pulse has slowed
To almost nothing now and the dark hours bring
A glimpse of death – the druid’s Art, the bear, is waking.
Fire Friend Moon, feel the Goddess turn
Her cold, pale face towards the Sun.
A kiss is tinder set to burn,
The love affair once more begun.
Wild spirit fire, a friend to man,
In our hearths, in our blood, this Alban Arthan.
Claire
