It is Samhain. The threshold between worlds is growing thinner, and the footsteps of the living intermesh with those of the dead in an ancient song that spans all time. I saw the Stag King come out of the thicket, I smelled his breath, mingled with the scent of the apple trees of Avalon, the water’s murmur and the rustling of the leaves in the forest. The majestic oak whispered to its children: ‘Fall to the ground, be reborn, nothing is ever lost’. Listen. The Hymns of Samhain are beginning. The poet, son of this immortal lymph, does not seek shelter between walls of stone, but out under the open sky, where the ancient stars watch and listen, where the wind carries the names of the gods and warriors of a time that is always present. Listen. The Hymns of Samhain are beginning. In this circle of words, pain turns to honey, loss is transformed into song, death reveals hidden life. Samhain is not the end: it is the first breath of the other life, the door that opens the way. Those who understand this, live twice. Listen. The Hymns of Samhain are beginning. Come closer, time travellers, sit by the fire of verses: listen to the whisper of the branches, the distant caw of the crows, the invisible veil that covers the stones. The breeze that brushes against you bears the same name as the Goddess, and every word I utter continues to vibrate between the worlds. Listen. The Hymns of Samhain are beginning. Listen. The Hymns of Samhain are beginning. Listen. The Hymns of Samhain are beginning. Listen. The Hymns of Samhain are beginning. Listen. The Hymns of Samhain are beginning. Listen. The Hymns of Samhain are beginning.
