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39 Poems for the Wheel of the Year samhain October 31 In​the​season​leaves​should​love, since​it​gives​them​leave​to​move through​the​wind,​towards​the​ground they​were​watching​while​they​hung, legend​says​there​is​a​seam stitching​darkness​like​a​name. Now​when​dying​grasses​veil earth​from​the​sky​in​one​last​pale wave,​as​autumn​dies​to​bring winter​back,​and​then​the​spring, we​who​die​ourselves​can​peel back​another​kind​of​veil that​hangs​among​us​like​thick​smoke. Tonight​at​last​I​feel​it​shake. I​feel​the​nights​stretching​away thousands​long​behind​the​days, till​they​reach​the​darkness​where all​of​me​is​ancestor. I​turn​my​hand​and​feel​a​touch move​with​me,​and​when​I​brush my​young​mind​across​another, I​have​met​my​mother’s​mother. Sure​as​footsteps​in​my​waiting self,​I​find​her,​and​she​brings arms​that​have​answers​for​me, intimate,​a​waiting​bounty. “Carry​me.”​She​leaves​this​trail through​a​shudder​of​the​veil, and​leaves,​like​amber​where​she​stays, a​gift​for​her​perpetual​gaze. ...

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