It is written in the runes unveiled by the maypole ******. When the darkest kiss meets the storm of light on a midsummer’s night.
The sisterhood has gathered. Fog and dew, euphoric moves. Chanting, flaunting ivory skin. Feel the pull of our dance the taunting of our calls.
Baccanal cries of ******. Bringing down the silver tears of falling stars to heal, to still the wounded souls, the lost with a swill of magic dew.
Moon daisy, Buttercup Count the number, hold your tongue. Catchfly and Baby’s breath say naught to no one keep the faith. Delphinium my steadfast knight. Bluebell and yes, Forget-me-not.
Gathered by the crossroad of yesterdays and tomorrows. Gentle flowers sacralized s e v e n for the magic number to seal the vow eternally of my love everlasting.
Too soon the dawn will break. Hurry do the last of spells. Hop over n i n e fences kirtle tied around my waist. Don’t look, don’t speak just hold my breath.
No time for sleep, not yet I mustn’t forget the rite itself, that will grant my dreams to unveil. What’s written in the future s e v e n blooms under my pillow. and finally I’ll see... ...the one
It’s tradition to post this not this day or night... Originally from June 2012, the night before my birthday. For the not initiated, just know that Swedes take their Midsummer rites very seriously.