Deadfall chestnuts idiotically signal the arrival, come June, of the messiah. Wood-grainy voices of old acorns and walnuts combine to roar imminent salvation. Black oak, crabapple-blossom, ironweed and sweetgum, angel cap of death and rambling roses, all declare annunciate that time will end with Gaia’s next undying June perfection. This Solstice Station marks the End of Line. Seasons cease, the Wheel is locked all life at once emergent and at peak. Nature’s now the infinite/eternal. Never die means never wilt, no brown decay, no sweet decomposition. Stopping time means flat white light of no-change never-shadow. No more over-green of vines, no more ripe-past-summer fullness, no underfoot-leaf sacrificial victims. No curled dry dropping petals, no bruised windfalling fruit. No fermentation, no more wine. No food for worms or ants. Death no longer cool and kindly waiting to receive, Sun condemned to long-life bulb and Moon reduced to night-light, plastic comfort. Un-Death finds its victory in eternalizing summer, in prayer for perfection, in static still deliverance from all sorrow loss and turning. Save us from salvation and petition now for Autumn! Conjure rot and shadow, put your shoulder to the Wheel. Witches, light the bonfires, call the vultures, seek the bones. Welcome Laughing Lady, Queen of scythes and skulls and crones.
Wren Donovan Published in The Harpy Hybrid Review, Issue #6, October 2021