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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