Hours of the Tide: Blessing of the Seeds

From garden dibble to rusty sickle, the Green Lady watches and blesses all within her purview.

You, oh Earth
Who, in utter darkness; crushing and tearing,
opens new life to the sun
and feeds the dying
the dead
and the living,
You, Mother
kiss my seeds
and make them fertile as you.

I spend this Hour of the Tide honoring the Sacred Sickle; the bringer up of grains; the blood that scours the land.  Rye, oat, wheat, barley, poppy, amaranth; this harvest season will have the hours marked in deep commitment.  

The Summer Mysteries are still... well, a bit of a mystery to me.  I'm planning my garden with great intensity, and taking the time to weave and mend things. It gives me a sense of hope for the future.  There is a spring to come, one that will bring up the green and bring out the pollen and poplar fluff... I intend to work my garden with great care, and find gratitude in every process, every life, every death.  I intend to find meaning in what I make, what I eat.  

So, to you, oh mothers of land and harvest, I beg: breathe over these sleeping things, and give them life.

A Weaver Witch's Cauldron:  from lucet to hook, from loom to spindle, from nostepinne to nalbinding-- baby, I've got the magic.

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