Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth

In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.

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Voice of Mystery

What Happened to Moriyama's Fireflies ...

 

The dead god lies outstretched on the altar.

The white shroud, like a ghostly snowfall, blurs the horizon of his body. Over the red ruin of his chest, the stained cloth clings moistly, horribly.

Suddenly, from the woods behind, like some night bird, the voice of a flute.

Like flowing water, it ripples and rills, calling.

Still, expectant, we listen and wait.

 

 

 

 

 

Once again, this Summer, the Midwest Tribe of Witches will gather in immemorial Grand Sabbat,

the ecstatic adoration of the embodied Horned Lord.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.

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