Let this then, be the ritual, the reminder, a gesture that might see us through.
The turning year has stopped to take a breath, and spent perhaps,
take stock of the harvest, apples in, the berries picked, jam made.
We have revelled in the light and now on the brink of the downward turn
there is balance, poise as we wait and take in hand
the ear of wheat, the golden bough, the loaf and cup,
remembering that in the way of things, beneath the visible
and over time, there is always wax and wane, always equal night.
Mary O’Brien (from Waiting for the Lights, Boland Press,) First published in Boyne Berries Autumn 2014.
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