As darkness deepens Epona passes the ways of transformation; identities wane to thinness and dissolve as she closes the paths of unbecoming, resolve as she opens the ways to new becoming.
This is a time of stillness, small glimmers of hope flicker in the gloom. A candle is lit to mark the nights to Solstice. Another will be lit for the Longest Night and the nights to follow. These nights are barely less long and dark, but slowly, by seconds and then by minutes, day after day light begins to return.
Out of the dawning of these new days a New Year is born. New life will follow. But for now we wait, watching the candles burn slowly as Epona passes the ways of transformation, awaiting the Longest Night and the nights to follow: each new dawn a gradual lifting of the veil, a revelation of becoming.
Visiting the garden altar on cold days late November it seems sad and desolate. I have cut back much of the vegetation behind it which exacerbates this feeling, but it feels appropriate as the days shrink towards Solstice. The fountain is still too. I have removed the pump as there is not enough sunlight to drive the solar panel and because it could be damaged if the water freezes. But Rosmerta’s cup remains in the upper vat and the cauldron in the lower vat is full with water from Mererid’s well.
For Rosmerta, I have written a poem which is posted on the Awenydd blog. Though her ancient iconography is clear, her mythos is till taking shape for me. It has been suggested that she is another aspect of Rigantona; though I am unsure of this I find I have associated her with Maponos in the poem and this may be step in the direction of defining an association.
I thought about passing standing by the altar with the rain falling, the wind gusting and the silence of Rhiannon’s Birds as she rode her white mare now her black mare through the mist and just then, as I was bidding farewell, a crow cawed, just once, and I smiled; even as she went her birds were not silent and I thought of the owl’s call on winter nights and so knew that echoing cry would be the echo of her going, and her wraith would remain through dim days and dark nights so her passing is an affirmation as the crow knew and I, hearing, know too.