A weathered hand, rough and gnarled, reaches down to stroke your cheek, as you lay curled in the darkness. Waiting. Grandmother Moon. "Reach in your apron pocket, child, and see what seeds there are to be sown. We have much to do." With a barely audible creak, like the opening door of an ancient farmhouse, a sliver of light is revealed in the night sky. Now, here is the Moon in her maiden form. Can you feel the energy rising? "What path shall you choose?" she asks. "Come, it is time to get started. I'll light the way." And so we begin again...
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