Belly sweels seek the moontanned shore.
They pound and roll, surge and fold
Crashing in the Dreamtime
And the Planter rises full with promise
As the greening rite begins...
Firelit bodies flicker
Clad in the painting glow.
Spinning like latitudes
They circle round the blaze
As musky dewdrops wellfrom within
And weave with the sweat of the dance.
The Chosen run laughing, hand in hand
>From the rampant beach to the dune-crest
Their pulses wax and quicken
In rhythm with the rising keen
And drumbeats sound the call to growing
In duet with distant thunder.
Moisture permeates the air
Stirred by a swirling breeze
And lightning freezes silhouettes of writhing As the old song once again
Ascsnds to the scudding clouds
And blends creschending with the wanton waves.
The tribe rejoice as Earth and Sky conjoin
And blessedness bedrenches their workings.
The season will bloom bountiful and good
And Harvest shall shine upon hallowed fields
Ripe with the fruits of the Mother.
Joe E. Dees
Poet, Pagan, Philosopher