As Fate would have it, I did not get to celebrate Lammas ON Lammas. My wedding anniversary is July 28th, and since it’s pretty much the ONLY goddam time of year the husband and I get to go out by ourselves without children, I was not going to pass up the chance to go out on the 31st (when my MIL could finally babysit). Then on the 1st, I had to go to the ER with my eldest daughter (long story short: remember that link to the NPR story of the stronger, more virulent poison ivy? Yeah, my daughter decided to roll in it. The poison ivy, not the link.) which ended up shooting that day to shit. Then on the 2nd I whined and pissed and moaned about how things had been thrown off kilter and I just wasn’t going to do anything to celebrate this year.
But today. Today the kids were begging for their celebration. It was storming, and we all love to dance in the rain, so off to our little “secret” place we went. Yeah, it’s really an overgrown old quarry disguised as a public park. I played the part of Szepasszony, carefully removing my top to dance amid the storm clouds and weaving my spells into puddles. (Shhhh! Really, the kids don’t care that I was topless, you pervs. They’ve all received sustenance from the very breasts that were exposed.)
We looked for oats to harvest for oatstraw infusions, but none were found. Even though it was a pretty impromptu little festival, I was pretty disappointed. Then. THEN. I turned my rain slick torso to pluck my shirt from the nearby branch I’d draped it on and there HE was: a beautiful buck, staring right at us. MY god. The children went silent. We stared for awhile and then he sauntered on.
I wish I’d had my damn camera. The end.