You may leave dedications for Epona here

[Heron]

Eponalia (18 December in the calendar of Roman Feast days)

The Sun sits low in the sky and dips even lower as his year draws to an end. The pale light of day soon passes to night. The tide ebbs. Each flower, each tree, each head of grass and grain, has shrunk to back to kernel: to hard seed, to nut, to reserved essence, biding the time until the light grows again and roots find a way through nurturing soil.

For now,  Epona traverses the paths of the dead, riding through the dark, through earth and sea, each life that has passed moving with her, finding the way that she opens for them, losing the memories she closes behind them. The Sun will return and a new year begin, but now is the time of repose.

Epona, we are with you in the time of waiting, we pause with you now in the dark of the year.
We mark the time until the longest night when you stir the deepest well of the darkness
like a river rising from the caverns of gloom. 


A candle is placed on the altar unlit, marking this time of darkness. It is a dark candle and when lit it will be scented and burn low and slowly. Another candle is placed there beside it, a large red candle for the rebirth of the Sun. This will be lit at the Solstice and burn through the longest night. Some holly and some ivy are also there.

Darkness falls
on the ivy leaf

Yulelight glistens
on the holly bough

As red fire stirs
in the kindling.

We count three days
to the longest night

Three more till the glimmer
of a longer day

Then seven to the eve
of New Year Calends

These days we count
from the Feast of Epona

First festival
of the Year’s turning.


The candle for Epona is lit.
The candle for the Sun awaits the Solstice.

[Lorna]

Epona, I wrote this poem for you after the blood moon in 2015 and read it aloud to you at a ritual held in your honour that autumn. I offer it here as a written dedication at your shrine.

Apples

For Epona

The blood moon:
an apple in a goddess' eye
drops and I think of the windfall
crisp autumn mornings when we released
the horses slipping from their halters
twisting away in leaps and bucks
with piquant glint-eyed excitement
to the trees where they'd drop their heads
whuffle up the crispy moons of green and red.

Some days before we turned them out
we whispered to them "apples"
and they knew exactly what we meant...

The blood moon has passed.
The horses are staying out late this year.
Yet the sun has gone down on my stable-yard:
baling freshly-cut hay, stacking barns
with hard-shouldered labour,
stuffing stretching nets
for hungry mouths.

As I cut the meadow and gather orchard fruits
I reminisce about the rural life that didn't last.

When the horses are tied behind bar and bolt
tugging at hay with meadow-sweet muzzles
I will feed them apple-moons
from my open palm.

[Mabon]

I ask a blessing from the Horse Mother and give thanks the she is here.

[Heron]

EPONALIA  : 18 December in the Roman Calendar of Feast Days


Awakening from a dream
In the half-light of a winter dawn

The vision of a white horse
Bright against the starkness of the day

The Sun riding low on the saddle
Of a ridge shrouded with mist

[Heron]

         A relief from your shrine in Trier where I visited especially to be with you.