Lughnasa 2011 -a reading (on YouTube)
In the struggle between light and darkness, the light is failing. The outnumbered hours of night have launched a surprise attack. Like a bad year in Machiavellian Florence, we bar the gate and lay in supplies against the long, impending siege of darkness. Resistance gathers throughout the high country, in hilltop forts and hidden, lakeside coves. Reaping maidens don gowns of green and stretch the backs of their men, their harvest promises extracted and bound with hay.
At midnight, a lone firefly finds me, like Hamlet's ghost, keeping a worried watch upon the wall. He bears a message from the summer solstice, his tiny beacon turning back the night. Like a morningtide rainbow after a sun shower, his flickering torch is a promise or a reminder. We will not be abandoned by our strongest ally in our coming time of need.
At first light, foraging parties roam the wood under a keen-eyed escort, reaping the bountiful berry harvest before it, like the surrounding faerie kingdom, falls into decay. Summer grapes, like the irides of Europa's wild-eyed children, or the wide eyes of playful garden predators, have gone from green to black overnight. Bees, like summer soldiers, gather golden nectar from colorful morning glories and crepe myrtles to create the supplies they need to overwinter in their fastness.
In distant fields and meadows, the tawny heads from the first fruits of harvest are crushed to powder beneath the circling, ox-drawn stone. Brickwork ovens throw the first heat against winter's eventual arrival. Offerings of freshly baked bread fill the air to appease the spirits of the homeless and the hungry. As we've sown in this verdant time of plenty, so in the darkness shall we reap.
We long for stability, for prosperity, for peace. But all we are given are wheat and wild grapes, fieldstone and timber, venison and salmon, spring water and perhaps a little honey. Enough to live and share if we don't become absorbed in the drama of conflict. From the elements at hand we build our lives in any way we choose, in light or in darkness, for good or for ill. In this, we are inseparable from our environment.
At midnight, a lone firefly finds me, like Hamlet's ghost, keeping a worried watch upon the wall. He bears a message from the summer solstice, his tiny beacon turning back the night. Like a morningtide rainbow after a sun shower, his flickering torch is a promise or a reminder. We will not be abandoned by our strongest ally in our coming time of need.
At first light, foraging parties roam the wood under a keen-eyed escort, reaping the bountiful berry harvest before it, like the surrounding faerie kingdom, falls into decay. Summer grapes, like the irides of Europa's wild-eyed children, or the wide eyes of playful garden predators, have gone from green to black overnight. Bees, like summer soldiers, gather golden nectar from colorful morning glories and crepe myrtles to create the supplies they need to overwinter in their fastness.
In distant fields and meadows, the tawny heads from the first fruits of harvest are crushed to powder beneath the circling, ox-drawn stone. Brickwork ovens throw the first heat against winter's eventual arrival. Offerings of freshly baked bread fill the air to appease the spirits of the homeless and the hungry. As we've sown in this verdant time of plenty, so in the darkness shall we reap.
We long for stability, for prosperity, for peace. But all we are given are wheat and wild grapes, fieldstone and timber, venison and salmon, spring water and perhaps a little honey. Enough to live and share if we don't become absorbed in the drama of conflict. From the elements at hand we build our lives in any way we choose, in light or in darkness, for good or for ill. In this, we are inseparable from our environment.
© 2011 Edward P. Morgan III
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ReplyDeleteNotes and asides:
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Lughnasa is the Gaelic berry harvest, the first day of Celtic fall. In England it is Lammas, the festival of harvesting the wheat. In Wales, it is Calan Awst or Gathering Day, a time when farmers prepare to help each other bring in the harvest. "Giving the green gown" and "stretching their backs" are Welsh customs where both men and women are bound with hay until they agree to relinquish harvest favors.
Irides is the more formal plural of iris (as in your eye). Europa (a Cretan princess abducted by Zeus in the form of a white bull) is a the namesake goddess of Europe (obviously). Less obviously, her name means "wide eyes." In humans, green eyes occur most commonly in northern Europe.
The final paragraph was inspired by listening to Alan Watts last week. I turn to him during particularly stressful times to regain a perspective on life. His words tend to bring me a sense of peace and harmony. I find I need them more and more these days as the drama of my life plays itself out like a marshalling for war.
Perhaps one day I will be wise enough to lift the mask and see that I strive against myself, not the world at large.
On the news front, I have created a Facebook author's page for my writing called Noddfa Imaginings at
https://www.facebook.com/pages/Noddfa-Imaginings/260668587283054
Like it on Facebook if you like and pass it on to anyone you think might be interested. I need 25 likes to be able to name the page. So help a brother out if you can.
I've also created a Google Plus account under Noddfa Imaginings. If you need an invite, let me know. I think they've opened them up again.
Oh, and regarding the side project I was telling you about earlier in the year, here's the official announcement. It's listed as March 15 but went up a bit later than that. Ben has some great projects in the queue that I look forward to seeing in completion.
http://runicfilms.com/ben-alpi-to-collaborate-with-writer-edward-morgan-on-sci-fi-project
As always, thanks for reading.
Picture notes:
ReplyDeleteA shot of Florida grapes trailing through Spanish moss of an oak in the park behind the house on Lughnasa 2009. Karen upped the Vibrance in Photoshop to darken the background and provide more contrast. They are difficult to photograph and this was one of the best pictures she got. This year, we have a bumper crop which were almost the perfect blend of sweet and tart this morning.