We Witches are Wonderful Things

To a Declining Sun: A Solitary Witch Honours the Season of the Falling Leaf

Written by: Patricia Olson

Now is the time of 'light in August,'

The days drip with liquid gold,

The flame-red God's prowess slowly weakens,

And the caress of the gloaming enfolds...

...Like the touch of a dark, soft blanket,

Ready to gather the Old King in its arms,

That He may retire anon more early,

And so enjoy the night time's charms.

By day he still breathes a furious fire,

Ripening grain and fruit and seed,

So that with the coming of the autumn,

The good, brown earth will have all She needs.

Soon the Rowan will catch fire,

And the leaves turn to russet and gold,

There will be fowl suppers and fall fairs,

And harvest tables with all they can hold.

On an afternoon of amber and sapphire,

The nutty scent of Mabon in the air,

Through the ankle-deep leaves I will saunter,

My dog-child and I an inseparable pair.

Soon the season of dark will be upon us,

With the turning of the Wheel,

A time for us witches all,

To think of how we can grow, nurture and heal.

From my tiny witch's garden,

I gather herbs and fruit from the vine,

To make healing balms and sweet compotes,

And jars of preserves in brine.

With the coming of the creeping frost,

Touching fruit and flower and gourd,

The time has come to shutter windows and doors,

And drive away the dark and the cold.

With my kitchen hearth all ablaze,

I prepare sauces and soups and stews,

Oils and powders and smudge pots,

And many healing witchy brews.

My day's work done, I honour the sunset,

And set myself a harvest table,

To partake of the season's great plenty,

Thanking Lord and Lady I am fit and able.

During the eve I sit by the fire,

As the day dies pale and wan,

My gentle dog-child by my side,

I read tales of sleeping kings in old Avalon.

The leaves are scattered and dried now,

The tree branches black and bare,

Northern lights dance like gods a-leaping,

There's a scent of snow in the air.

In my little witch's cottage,

It's soon time to honour Samhain,

With prayers to a dying Lord and grieving Lady,

And the great powers of the veiled Unseen.

Yet even on a night of dark, blue sorrow,

The eve of the lost and the dead,

We keep hope alive within our breasts,

Knowing that the season of love and rebirth lies ahead.

On this Samhain night upon my hearth,

I'll have an aromatic and bubbling tureen,

And to welcome travelers along the way,

A grinning Jack-O-Lantern's gleam.

So as I watch the days grow shorter,

And the plums ripen on the bough,

I gather strength from the waning summer,

To make my witch's vow:

To forever honour the Lord and Lady,

To forever follow the Witches' Rede,

To always rejoice in the turning of the Wheel,

From the dying God to the sprouting seed.

In this witch's small and sequestered dwelling,

The Old Ways are held dear,

To honour both robust and declining Sun,

Now and throughout the year.

The Wise Women

     The Wise Women of today are just as capable as ever.  They are Teachers, Mothers, Wives, Doctors, and many more things.  What make women so special is the nurturing aspect they carry deep within.  As a woman, she has been capable of doing just about what ever she sets her mind to.  She has the loving touch, the healing energy, and the wisdom of young and old.  To be called a Witch is an honor, for Witch means Wise Woman.  

     For a truly gifted Witch, she can summon the energies of all around her, cast healing, protection, and a magnitude of spells.  She is in touch with herself, the earth, nature, elemental aspects, and her Deities.  She knows the cycles of the Moon and gives honor and respect to all that is around her. She is loved and respected.  She is sought out, and is seeker.  

She is todays Wise Woman.