Changing seasons

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Callused hands patterned by countless folds
wring nets that have dipped many times into Father Sea of Old
Their movements swift, their grips powerful
They coil ropes around tanned limbs
and strap tools across firm backs
They load shoulders with fresh bounty sheening grey and silver
The air is scented with the briny tang of sea-seasoned meat and raw flesh
Ere long heavy steps leave where Old Father Sea meets Brother Land
The season for seas has ended
Come morrow Master Forest will host their hunt
And see to their next supper
As true as the changing tide, Lady Eve makes her presence,
fully formed in her glorious splendour
lighting their path through Master Forest’s kingdom
The Lowland Folks crooned reverent, praising
For bountiful yield and Providence’s faithful protection
They thanked Maiden Sun, ever watchful
For reining in Father Sea’s temper and shushing Sister Sky’s tantrum
A familiar bend in the well-worn path, neath the shadows of Mount Guardian
Lifted their hearts and lighten their burden
Home draws nears
Home is upon them
Sweat rutted faces weathered by toil
Disappear beneath a dawning smile

Work-in-progress Nov 2016

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