|La Luna, the Heartstring Puppeteer.|
She is a master -- the Heartstring Puppeteer
and when I turn my face to Her face,
sometimes I see Her beauty, reflecting my beauty, reflecting back to Her, to me.
Sometimes I see You
(and you and you and you and you.)
And I know she has your strings as much as She has mine, because you tell me so:
"Happy full moon, my dear." in a message from J.
|Loving text from S.|
|Photo from my heartstring A.|
These are a few of the faces which look back at me through Her face. So many more, there are -- if you see me, you can be sure I see you. Just a sentiment to keep us warm while this cold season passes by.
Winter Sun by Molly Fisk
How valuable it is in these short days,
threading through empty maple branches,
the lacy-needled sugar pines.
Its glint off sheets of ice tells the story
of Death’s brightness, her bitter cold.
We can make do with so little, just the hint
of warmth, the slanted light.
The way we stand there, soaking in it,
mittened fingers reaching.
And how carefully we gather what we can
to offer later, in darkness, one body to another.
Blessings to you & you & you & you, this Esbat.