I have always loved the idea of naming the full moons. Traditionally, these names reflect nature through the seasons, and vary with history and culture; for example, between English Medieval, Norse, Celtic or Native American. This beautiful lore gives rise to visual and emotional impressions, the province of the moon itself.
While working on The Chronicles of Ealiron, I wrote and illustrated a series of verses to capture the essence of each cycle using tree, plant and animal lore. This is called solaeson, which in the wizards’ tongue means “the solar breath.” Some day these verses will find a home in the series.
In celebration of the Celtic New Year, I’ve begun with November.
Frost Moon loves the rooted reed
Wormwood sighs and parting mists
Ghostly white hounds wandering to
Gather souls of lost and passed.
Cold Moon loves the elder tree
Fires warm the longest night
Raven’s sun to wake while stars
Cast ice upon the mountain.
Wolf Moon loves the shining birch
Cloaked in snow and glittering cold
A stag upon the heather hill
Fading into twilight gray.
Snow Moon loves the rowan tree
A dragon green with berries red
Flowing in the warming milk of
Creatures fed on celandine.
Wind Moon loves the fiery ash
Sea foam horses ride the waves
Crashing on the silvery shores of
Rosemary and winterbloom.
Seed Moon loves the alder black
As the hawk wheels overhead
Pale the eggs, blushed the violets
Dappling the woodbine patch.
Hare Moon loves the willow tree
Old she rains and deep she flows
Serpent heads, red columbines
Breathe fire in the morning.
Bright Moon loves the hawthorn tree
A maiden’s cup of woodruff vines
Twining in the thistle
Reddened by the warm high sun.
Rose Moon loves the ancient oak
Strewn with chamomile and light
Tall white horses thundering
O’er meadowsweet and rue.
Horse Moon loves the holly tree
Dark and shining blackbirds fly
Shadow oats and sunflowers
Laid amid the harvest rich.
Barley Moon loves hazel trees
Whispering to deep green pools
Salmon wise moves watery reeds
To rise through wreaths of lilies.
Blood Moon loves the spiraling vine
Flowing wine entranced by sage
Calls the white swan’s sparkling eye
To rest upon the sunset.
Hunter Moon loves ivy dark
Swelling apples grow to red
Butterflies float down to rest
On vervain’s one last flower.
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