Every season needs a poem. Or maybe five. Or maybe a thousand. Every season needs a breath of word witchery, a gentle breeze of bardness, a moment to reflect on the magic of soil. This one, is a poem for Autumn.

A Poem for Autumn

We need to fall

And decompose 

We need to go into the dark

So that we don’t miss the mark

Of roots

Of death

Here under the soil we’ll reclaim our power 

By resting 

Releasing 

Reflecting

And saying fuck off to many things

Grieve

Ground

Not glamorous in the old sense of the way

Glorious in a new Mugwort kind of a way