Poem for Lammas/Lughnasadh

Gathering at Lughnasadh #2

Here, fields are brimming with bright tight-packed
wheels of straw, and the first harvests are well in:
lanes gold with spilled grain; the gleaning sparrows
and pigeons. John Barleycorn dying over and over
and rising again. The year is already behind the hill
but the strong summer sun still burns.

I’m kneading Lammas dough and thinking that
the thing about getting older is no longer
craving the wild conflagrations that my youth
called for; the thing about getting older is
relishing the slow-burning turn of each season,
the different small gifts that each day might bring.© Roselle Angwin

Here, in these heatwaves, the barley harvest that marks Lammas was first cut at the end of June, though the traditional time in Britain is now, Lughnasadh, named for Lugh the fire-god, and the time of the early harvest. You can read more on this link. Happy Lughnasadh, my friends.