Mabon

There were three men came out of the West,
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow,
John Barleycorn must die...

Summer is past. The grain stood tall and golden in the field, awaiting its fate.

They let him stand till midsummer's day,
Till he looked both pale and wan,
And little Sir John's grown a long, long beard
And so become a man...

Harvest came, harvest is done. This is the last of it. After the Autumnal Equinox, whatever is left in the fields is for the gods. If the harvesters were quick and conscientious, there will only be one last shock of grain or corn, bound carefully and placed with pride for the Gods of field and farm.

They've hired men with scythes so sharp,
To cut him off at the knee,
They've rolled him and tied him by the waist
Serving him most barbarously...

There is bread in plenty, and grapes for wine. Fruits and nuts are in and preserved, and meats and cheeses, too.

The nights are chill, but we have fires to warm us.

Winter is not yet upon us; we have time to make snug our homes before true cold comes down on us.

It is Autumn, a time to rest, to look ahead and calculate our provisions - have we set aside enough? Must we look to the woods and our neighbors to make up any shortfalls? Must we call upon the sacrificial King, who will rise up again come spring and begin the cycle anew?

This is the last of the Earthen or harvest holidays, a time for reflection on what we have reaped, on what we will sow. We don't have to plant, to weed, to worry and wait. We may rest, now, until Spring spreads her greening over the land. It's not yet the hungry time, not yet the lean time - it is the time of content, of plenty, of settling in and waiting without fear - we have enough.

And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl--
And he's brandy in the glass,
And little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Proved the strongest man at last.

I wish you a full larder, a full heart, and a full measure of content on this Mabon day.

Blessed Be.