La mort intérieure

In the dreamy silence Of the afternoon, a Cloth of gold is woven Over wood and prairie; And the jaybird, newly Fallen from the heaven, Scatters cordial greetings, And the air is filled with Scarlet leaves, that, dropping, Rise again, as ever, With a useless sigh for Rest—and it is Autumn. « Autumn », Alexander Posey Novembre…

We are storm, fire and blood

Listen to the words of the Great Mother, who was of old also called Artemis; Astarte; Diana; Melusine; Aphrodite; Cerridwen; Dana; Arianrhod; Isis; Bride; and by many other names. Whenever ye have need of anything, once in a month, and better it be when the Moon be full, then ye shall assemble in some secret…