In the Autumn when the Goddess wears leaves of
Gold, Rust, and Crimson,
I think most particularly of home, hot soup,
cider and fresh bread.
This is the nesting urge that Mother Nature Hecate has
imprinted in our breasts.
This is the longing to have our loved ones close
at hand and safe beneath our roof.
September the sweet month with lingering
summer days and deliciously cool evenings,
October the holy month with the dark night of
Samhain approaching in mystery,
November the transitional month with another
change of season coming our way,
These are the trappings of Autumn, of Mother
Hecate's joyous feast before winter's sleep.
I love Autumn--the Cronehood of the
Her perfume is wood mulch and burnt leaves
Her cloak is a tapestry of mums, orange and
black pansies and the last rose of the season,
She is initiated into the ancient wisdom by
Mother Hecate and grows white-headed under
winter's mantel before our eyes.