See the wave’s white horses . . .

Between posting about my Poseidon festivals for the year and printing out my calender, I totally forgot that I’d moved Poseidon Hippos from one part of the year to another. This is the fifth time I’ve observed this holiday, though every time it’s a little bit different. I try to synch it up to local foaling periods, but that alone can range so much. There is always a nod, at least, to the birthing process, the fertile cycle, and the propagation of the species. In the past I have given offerings of apples, carrots, sugar cubes, oats, etc.

Early Sunday morning, the 8th of the secular month, I woke up, prepared myself, dressed, and headed out. There’s a meadow not far from our house, a small bit of land that’s recently been purchased by people wanting to save the meadow from development, and so it’s a piece of land cared for, valued for just being what it is. It’s a place that really sings to me of this city I call home, and despite the fact that it’s open and often populated by people, it’s one of my favorite places to leave offerings. I brought simple things: the carved wooden horse that lives on my public Poseidon shrine, some incense, a local apple picked on the way home from the market, some carnations from our garden, some wine. I wandered the pathways to the meadow, stopped to say hello to some of the felines, paused to be barked at by a loose dog with his person, and then sat and prayed and gave gifts and, in return, received gifts.

I thought about taking pictures, either at the onset or afterward, but as is the case with me, the camera never made it out.

On the way home, before the sun had pierced through our cloud cover, laying in the gutter, away from houses, I found a length of driftwood, alone and unloved and waiting for me. I laughed like someone newly in love and newly delighted, as if I haven’t known this god of mine for over a decade now, as if such gifts have never crossed my path. I’m not to keep this bit of driftwood, this bit of magic that made my weekend. This coming Saturday it will be a part of my next festival, Poseidon-of-the-Ponds. There very well may be pictures of that one, at least.


2 thoughts on “See the wave’s white horses . . .

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