FEATURED: All Hallowed
by Ashley Sposato
ALL HALLOWED
The morning sun unfurls, a red and
perfect flower, dawn bleeding through the
frost and brume. Just over the hills, an
orchard grows sweet in the gathering
light.
Somewhere, ash and ember are coaxed
into fire. A copper kettle remembers what
it is to sing.
Deep in the forest, a mother bear brings to
herself all that she will require to make it
through the long winter months, to
welcome the dark and sleeping seeds
waiting within her.
In a kitchen, the scent of apples and
cinnamon limns the air; jars line the
countertop, filled to the brim.
The days are shorter now; morning and
night no longer equidistant. As the
weather grows colder, so too do I
remember what it is to return to the ritual
of harvest, to tuck away praise and quiet
my soul before the dark.
And so I weave a warm garment of
worship, sing hymns not only of hearth
and byre but of the gloaming in between,
the witching hour where the space betwixt
Heaven and Earth grows thin.