Danielle Dulsky
This new moon welcomes the wandering ancestors home to our warming hearths, these slow hours. We call to them from the mountain roads and the pine forests, from the haunted woodlands and the empty valleys, spilling dirges into the mud for all that's been lost to September's torrent. We sing the praises of the helpers and the healers. We mine strength from the hidden places. We weave charms and stack stones. We let granny's ghost guide us as the shadows grow thick...