September Leaving
This is a day to walk the land,
gather seeds in a circle
to make a mandala for grouse
and quail, infuse it with magic
for broods that come after.
A day to love in the respite
of high harvest light, fill larders
with color for pale winter days.
When remembering Mabon,
I laugh and weep, call to canvas
each evensong, each morning refrain,
every image of brief sweet marriage.