Litha

Soft, graceful, radiant mother,

returning to us with abundant light.

Firm, warm and moist earth,

yielding glittering gems of flowers.

Your children delight even in the humblest of weeds,
clover, and bright golden buttercups,

wild strawberries and honeysuckle.

Intoxicating scents float on the air,

your breath, 

reviving us from our

melancholy torpor. 

Walking in the morning,

I sense your presence around me,

my feet against the ground,

my eyes to the horizon,

my ears attuned to the songs

of the cardinal, goldfinch,

and mockingbird, 

to the rhythm of the woodpeckers

rapping against the pines.

I feel I can tell you anything,

like a close sister, an indulgent,

sweet mother, you are.

The warmth of the golden sun

is your embrace,

the breeze,

your hair, brushing my cheek.

Lest I forget you,

the many creatures who greet me

come to remind me,

of your delicate, vibrant splendor. 

Shimmery green spiders 

with silver backs and orange bellies,

butterflies of every color,

snails and tiny grasshoppers.

Fireflies,

and preying mantises,

will make their entrance soon,

when we will sit outside at dusk 

and watch the bats fly in circles. 

The rocks and feathers 

my family collects,

reminders of you to put inside,

but outside is where we greet you,

learning from you as you teach us

death and rebirth,

growth and renewal,

opening to the sun

and rising up with the moon,

our Mother.