Samhain draws its last light. The fields quiet. The paths turn inward. We listen for what stays and what is ready to sleep.

In the green hush, the Wild God stands at the gate of winter. Antlers bright against the moon, cloak scented with leaf and rain, he does not vanish. He descends. Rootward. Toward seed and ember.

What we carry

• Gratitude. For the cups shared and the work well done.
• Release. For what cannot cross the threshold with us.
• Promise. To tend the small lights until the sun turns again.

Like the flame in a cupped hand, faith does not shout tonight. It breathes. It rests in the dark soil where roots remember their way. We honor that rest. We trust it to ripen what we cannot yet see.

A simple practice

Warm a cup. Sit by a window or door. Speak one thing you are releasing and one thing you are keeping. Sip slowly. When the cup is empty, touch the rim and say, “I carry the ember.” Then set the night to quiet.

A closing for Samhain

May the gate close gently.
May the dark keep your seed.
May the quiet teach your hands.
May the ember find its home.

We walk with the season. The work goes on, steady and kind, beneath the black moon.

Carry the Ember ✦