|Ms. Luna, gaining.|
It is what we do.
To the North!
It makes for pandemonium of various sorts.
It made for a squirrely Esbat.
Out the window!
Save for the sheer poetry of the skies She inhabits:
And the poetry of Her rare dance with the Sun,
when They share that same sky,
over our beloved Breakfast Canyon:
|Moon & Sun over Breakfast Canyon.|
And the poetry that is Her body,
swelling in the daylight
clear & cool:
|Swelling in the daylight.|
She peeked through the cloudy veil,
to find our offerings.
Butter coconut cookies & a lemon lychee vodka with soda & a twist of lime.
I stood at the fence & tried to sing like Mira Billotte
to a five equine audience
while the boys kicked a soccer ball across the darkness.
Heading back indoors for sleep after such a busy day
& more preparations...
We discover that our offerings have been accepted,
by two greedy horses
who hang over the fence, jockeying for more.
Hubby shrugs & says,
"Hey, however She wants it."
I say, "Yep. But those horses can't have any more vodka."
Blessings to you this Esbat, my friends.