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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The Goddess Who Wasn't There

Ever since planting day, she's been there, back in the corner of the garden, up to her knees in the good, rich soil.

For the last seven months, every time I looked out, she's stood there looking back.

And now she's gone.

It was an amazing growing season, the longest on record.

But now it's over.

I cleared out the garden this weekend, and the little clay goddess came indoors to sleep on her bed of sweet sage in the storage cupboards, among the herbs, the dried beans, and the many-colored jars of summer goodness.

It's the Fallows, the Time Between: the no-more of Samhain and the not-yet of Yule. Fred Adams of Feraferia called this time Repose:

As seeds and litter settle to Earth,

dreams and All Souls rise from the dense rooted underground

to soften and fuse them.

We know that she'll be back some day, smiling her sweet, soft smile.

But for now, I still feel that little pang of emptiness every time I look back and she's not there.

In this Season of Dreams, my Lady, may your winter dreams be sweet.


Sculpture: Joanna Hajduk, Glinka Design

Photo: Magda Kielar





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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.


  • Anthony Gresham
    Anthony Gresham Tuesday, 15 November 2016

    I saw a wooden carving of Frey in a book on Vikings, it left me with the notion that most of the early god figures were probably made of wood. I hope you find a god figure that is just right for watching over your garden while your little goddess figure sleeps.

  • Steven Posch
    Steven Posch Wednesday, 16 November 2016

    Anthony, you're really good. In fact, he's already in place: a forked stick with cross-arms, standing in his little cairn, watching over the season of snow and sleep.
    Damn, you're good.

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