After a super-busy week that included the final edit on my new book, the publisher sending the book to the printer, a memorial service, teaching at the Organic Growers School’s fall event, picking up and delivering a load of goat-and-chicken poo and Sunday’s ordination and more—anyway after all that and the weather change, I am excited to think about autumn and winter gardening.

And my thoughts are frequently visited by my Ancestors.

I have a class on Ancestor Altars at Raven and Crone on Friday evening and one on working with our Ancestors coming up next month.  All this reverie made me think of this piece I wrote last year, so I’m sharing it here to keep it close.

We begin with apples in our laps.

We hold the vastness of the center.

Shoulder to shoulder, we hold the Void.

Crow, come in! Hawk, come in! Horse, come in! Bear, come in!

We rise.

As Ancestors form a deeping fence,

As Mighty Dead align their Host,

As Crow and Hawk, Horse and Bear ring the place between

Earth and Nothing,

She steps out from the darkness.

She steps out through the Beings.

Her face both maid and granddame,

Her back straight as an ash spear,

Hand reaches out to hand and we begin to dance.

Circle within circle,

ringed by the Eldest,

ringed by the Dead,

we dance the dance of tilled Earth

as the brass bells at our waists

ring out.

And as the smoke from fires past begins to cloud our eyes,

We open our dry throats and sing,

apples strewn in our path

like fat rubies.