Lammas

[smokingboot]

Here come Lughnasadh and Lammas, Loaf Mass and Harvest Home. Wishing all a fine harvest, and if there be none, if the seeds won't take however hard you try, at worst may there be food and warmth for you, stars tonight and a better tomorrow.

Here is an old poem of mine for this time

I was a corn doll
taken from the fields
where a giant with a scythe
twisted and made me real.

Hung me on the house eves
where the threshers rested
tethering ricks
as swallows nested.

On the lammas night
A wolf I saw
Where once were woods
that stand no more

And soft was his fur
corn was my hair
He was killed long ago
I was scattered to air.

Yet the harvest moon smiles
when our ghosts meet and kiss.
Give up the fool’s cunning
Come dance with us