The Wheel of the Year

Poem-A-Day Prompt 19:  Write a Wheel Poem.  Sort of reminiscent of the Circle Poem way back on Day 7.  But I like the roundness. . .

Me, I think the world begins on that inward turn of the wheel.
The poise and the pause, the moment of balance.
Autumnal Equinox.  Prepare for the coming of night.

Then swing a notch toward the dark and fall
between the worlds.  Part the veils and listen
for the words of the ancestors.

Turn the wheel again, into the dark and darker
and the mother is groaning in her labor pains,
the heart is listening like a young rabbit in the warren.
Seeds of crystals grow and glow.

And turn again, and into light, sharp and newborn,
emergent.  What will you bring with you into the sun?
No wonder the whistle pig is the icon of the day,
fresh, transformed, and blinking in the snow-blind glare.

Another spin into the light, the time of the egg
and the bud, the time of the singing, the blooming.
The world washed clean and wind-shriven.
Back to the balance of Equinox.

Yank the wheel another notch and throw off
the kilter of spring.  Enter the riot, the bustle.
Use the words fecund and fertile and wild.

The wheel turns and the sun stands like an ancient hero
on the vault of the sky.  What fills your soul?
Where do your dreams go?  Follow your fire.

After that zenith, the shape shades to dark once more,
but the loss is lost in the haze of the days.
The first wheat is harvested, baked into loaves.
What will you make of your harvest?

Follow the bark of the goose to the next turn,
and the world begins all over again,
folding itself into darkness.

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