T TThe equinox comes, and I walk through the fields This Mabon: harvest of the fruits Past rows of sunflowers, their heads hanging low No more to mirror the sun but the brown earth; And so to the woods The sun, not so high now, Shines through the canopy of green less verdant, The shadows deeper,
leaves rustle on the mossy floor, All is still, the ground baked dry, Waits in quiet anticipation of winter rains, The trees lament the passing year, The flies less abundant against the sun A web glints in a shaft of light between the trees, A stillness has fallen on the land Some lonely bird song, some fluttering wings Pass and are gone Where a sunbeam falls to the floor, A green lizard basks and watches me approach Then scampers away at the last moment, Not wanting to shorten his time in the sun Alas! the air has changed, summer is no more Persephone must pass to the underworld, The light must dim, The land prepares to sleep.