As I settle into the house I find myself living most of my life in that space, surrounded by my allies. Hermes near the door, gathering small bright things like a magpie. Athena by the window, firm and steady and unexpected, watching with her grey eyes. The Good Neighbors at the threshold, honey in their cups and hawthorne close to hand.
It’s the last night of Heartland, and the gods are dancing around the fire. Drums pound out a rhythm for their revel. Masks hide their eyes in wells of shadow as they ambulate, a counter-widdershins curve of bodies spinning, twirling, cycling in and out from the red glow of the flame and the blue dark of the field. Some of their bodies I recognize: friends caught up in the trance. They have answered the high priest’s challenge, donned masks inscribed with sigils that contain the breath of gods, and surrendered themselves to the whims of the powers beyond.