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.
The Colors of Lunasa
What are the colors of Lunasa?
Green and gold, one might think: the unripe grain, and the ripe.
And so it is. But these are the Lunasa of the fields, the Lunasa of Earth.
And there are other Lunasas.
When I was growing up among the hills and hollows of western Pennsylvania, high summer along the roads and fields meant two wildflowers, growing together: Queen Anne's lace and chicory. Their colors together will always be, for me, the colors of Lunasa.
Creamy white, and blue with just a hint of purple beneath: the colors of cloud in a late summer sky.
Alas, neither Queen Anne's lace nor chicory grow where I live now.
But as I drive south into Witch Country for the summer festivals, into the region known as the Driftless area, just south of the Cities, along the sides of the roads and the edges of cornfields I begin to see the two of them, thriving together like a happy couple.
And in my heart I am glad, and know that harvest is near.
For these, blue and white, are also the colors of Lunasa: the Lunasa of the wild, the Lunasa of Heaven.
But there are still more Lunasas.
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