Midsummer Births a Goddess: In Honor of Carol Christ by Sara Wright

This year, more than ever before, I note a very subtle shift that is occurring as we approach the middle of July. Lots of humidity – and I confess – I love the sweet summer scent as long as it isn’t hot. The days are losing a minute or two of light. Instead of slamming out of bed in the pre-dawn hour I find myself sleeping until 6AM and my dogs want to sleep in until 9 on gray foggy mornings like today. The birds are quieter, their songs less intense although my feeder is visited by hoards of youngsters, many of which are still being fed by their parents.

The Wood thrush has moved deeper into the forest, so it is the Mourning doves who begin my day with song. Most of all, I notice the richness, the vibrancy of deep summer green. Even though my flower garden is on fire with primary colors, I can’t seem to soak in enough greening to satisfy my hungry heart..

Subtle changes like this probably go unnoticed by most but for me they are signs of the goddess coming into her own…I am curious if anyone else senses this shift of energy.

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I wrote the prose and poem this morning July 14^th for Carol’s blog not knowing at that time that this most compassionate woman, feminist scholar, mentor, friend had died shortly after midnight. When I saw the notice on the Internet I was stunned. It seemed so impersonal to receive such heartbreaking news in this manner. When I came back to read this piece I realized that indeed, Midsummer had given birth to a Goddess and her name was Carol Christ. 

Midsummer births a Goddess

Midsummer Births a Goddess
She comes to life
 dressed
in ferns –
maidenhair,
sensitive,
royal,
hay scented,
each a different shade
of green.
She hides
under graceful hemlock
fronds,
 a lacy cedar.
 As Partridge berry
 She winds her way
around a rotting
trunk, fruit
not yet fully formed.
 Cherry tree,
drops pale leaves
in light winds,
 her life force spent
 after early
April blooms.
 Her gift of
perfect crimson
pearls
loved and eaten by
birds and bears.

Each Tree bares her name
 smooth and ribbed
limbs, verdant leaves
 capture shimmering
  drops of dew.

Silver slips
through stone
so eerily still –
it’s hard to recall
  rushing waters
until thunder cracks
open the sky,
and churning rivers
run brown,
peeling away
unprotected hills.

When the Cloud People
cast billowing clouds
 I call up Her
gentle, soaking rains
to temper
wild and white
 lightening strikes.

She courts Peace,
repairs tortured splits
between earth
and sky with Love…
She calms all
who seek her
in that Sea
of Emerald Grace.

Bio

Sara is a naturalist, ethologist (a person who studies animals in their natural habitats) (former) Jungian Pattern Analyst, and a writer. She publishes her work regularly in a number of different venues and is presently living in Maine.