A piece for Lammas this year. I don't subscribe to the Celtic calendar, but of course I subscribe to the concept of a harvest season. I seek above all my own words to describe my experiences.

INSTAGRAM

#lughnasadh #lammas

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petaltexturedskies

The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. There is no thunder, no relieving rain. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after.

Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting

#i loved that book #the muses #the mousai #lughnasadh #lammas #lunasa

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fuckyeahaltars

Lammas night Horned God ritual idol.

#lammas #lughnasadh

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an-stoirm

coinandcandle

Another Note on Lughnasadh vs Lammas

The reason the phrases "Lughnasadh aka Lammas" or "Lammas, also called Lughnasadh" bothers me so much is because, while it may seem like a harmless phrase, you're perpetuating the idea that these are the same holiday.

The reason we don't want to perpetuate that idea is because it erases the very rich and very different histories as well as the cultural significance of these holidays.

These two can absolutely be celebrated together but please refer to them as separate and unique holidays!

For more information you can read this post.

#lammas #lughnasadh

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annrosecuriosities

~* August Garden Harvest *~ Spending time in my garden cheers me up. Here is what's in my basket: strawberries, blackberries, tomatoes, blueberries, & little cute violas that appeared suddenly. And I picked more cucumbers.

#lughnasadh #lammas

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evilios

#lughnasadh #lammas

ofinkandstars reblogged

petaltexturedskies

When the blackberries hang swollen in the woods, in the brambles nobody owns, I spend all day among the high branches, reaching my ripped arms, thinking of nothing, cramming the black honey of summer into my mouth; all day my body accepts what it is. In the dark creeks that run by there is this thick paw of my life darting among the black bells, the leaves; there is this happy tongue.