She Comes Cloaked in Blue Feathers

Pen on Paper (Frankenstein by Mary Shelley)

As the Seasons change and the leaves fall off the trees, I feel the cold bite of Summer’s end. Sometimes there is a gentleness in death, sometimes Death is more harsh. Crushed roadkill lines the streets, and I feel the weight of the lifting veil. The spirits are louder now, my dreams are different. I wake up in total darkness, the shadows clinging to my skin like sleep in my eyes. 

*

This is not the season for processing bone, the cold air slows decomposition, and I am relieved, even if I know that I need more patience for any who come to me now. 

*
It is time to lay out the feasts for Hekate and the Restless dead. Old charms will be renewed, new charms will be made. Poison and Bone intertwine like Ivy on a tree. This is a seven day feast of stories, poison and the dead…

Advertisements

I welcome you to leave a comment below...

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s