Waxing Balance
by Rachel K. [] and Jonathan Quince
Sunday, March 20, 2005 07:33:07
Vernal beginnings spill forth on the downswing of hiemal severity. The air nearly sparkles with the scent of feracious potential; as night and day strike their balance in timeless rhythm, the Earth begs to Nature with worshipful need, and all life thereupon rouses to new opportunities of replenishment.
Balance is her forte, equinox her time of reckoning; and as she contemplates the cusp of another cycle’s renewing, her body stirs with sensual call to participate. Vestiges of snow grace the ground; yet already, she can catch the scent of brave green pushing through, budding to flower like a teen’s youthful body. With ice in her left hand, she takes fertile soil in her right, rubbing it over the naked curves of her body; the waxing of springtide is now to be christened with rites of levels meeting, carnal in spirit and spiritual in raw physicality.
Her cunt’s springly scent mixes with that of season’s fecundity on the chill, misty wind; and by callings thus, orgy ensues, with human and creature coming from far and wide to attend. Libations of snowmelt and of hot cuntal juices do mix to anoint each awed congregant in wonder. And by the falling of twilight on lengthening day, crepuscular shadows dance ’fore the bonfire, and convivial merriment sparkles in the air as the year is marked to its own continuation.