18/10/2026
I call to Demeter in her shadowed face.
Mother of grain, Mother of grief,
walk the fields with your sickle.
Cut away what has withered.
Strip bare the stalks of sorrow,
that the earth may rest and dream again.
I call to Persephone, Queen of Below.
Daughter who carries both seed and silence,
teach us to harvest not only bread,
but the remnants of what we must release.
Show us how descent nourishes,
how the underworld takes what is done
and makes it fertile.
I call to Hekate, Keeper of Crossroads.
Flame Bearer, guide of endings,
stand at the edge of our fields.
Torch the husks that no longer serve,
light the way for our casting off.
With you we burn the waste,
and find power in what is shed.
I call to Kali, Dancer of Time.
With your many hands, thresh us clean.
Take the chaff of our fear,
take the harvest of what has rotted,
devour what chains us.
Make the field of the soul bare,
so new seed may take root.
I call to The Morrigan, Crow of Battle.
Winged one, blood and prophecy,
circle the harvest ground.
Gather the broken,
gather the bones of struggle,
and bless the soil with their return.
Let the fields be fed by endings.
I call to Lilith, First of the Wild.
Keeper of the orchard’s shadow,
claim the fallen fruit,
claim desire and defiance alike.
Harvest what has been denied,
so that nothing wasted is ever lost.
Dark Goddess, hear us.
It is time.
Time to harvest not only grain and fruit,
but every withered stalk,
every heavy burden,
every illusion that cannot follow us into winter.
With your blades, with your torches, with your wings,
cut, burn, gather, devour.
We lay down what is no longer needed.
We open the field of the spirit.
We make ready for the seed of what is to come.
And so it is.
Words by The Crow Woman / Lyndsey Watson published in Quill of the Goddess - October 2025 edition
Artwork by Margo Kai