Field, forest, and sea sink into longer times of darkness. By late afternoon the sun sends thin slits of light through branches. There is hoar frost each morning. Snakes, worms, bears and frogs all burrow in deeper, as I do into my blankets. The deer walk along Moss Brook each morning and forage along their walk. The bucks are focused on–well, try to get in their way when they’re in a hurry! Last week a bear ran by me, making a commotion in the deep leaves! And so, in this season, I thank the horned gods for his good company and welcome him here between stream and emerald pool.
The Wind in the Willows has a lovely passage about Pan, and here I have an ancient stones with Cernunnos carved into it from Clonmacnoise, a place would be close to the belly button of Eire.
In the spirit of the changing season, and the spirit of humans and gods, I offer this invocation attributed to Aimirgin, the one of the first Milesian princes who came to Ireland —not as a tourist, but in battle. There are any different translations of this poem, and I tacked on my bedroom wall when I was ten years old. This invocation is so old that we really don’t know what parts might be older than Amergin. It comes from The Leabhvar Gabhala, the Book of Invasions. May Winter’s Strength sustain you.
Amerigan’s Invocation (attributed)
I am the wind which breathes upon the sea
I am the wave of the ocean
I am the murmur of the billows
I am the ox of the seven combats
I am the vulture upon the rocks
I am a beam of the sun
I am the fairest of plants
I am a wild boar in valour
I am a salmon in the water
I am a lake upon the plain
I am a word of science
I am a point of the lance of battle
I am the god who created in the head the fire
Who is it who throws light into the meeting on the mountains?
Who announces the ages of the moon?
Who teaches the places where couches the sun?
For a slightly different version set to melody, visit