Bride of the earth, sister of the faeries, daughter of the Tuatha de Danaan, keeper of the eternal flame. In autumn, the nights began to lengthen, and the days grew shorter, as the earth went to sleep. Now, Brighid stokes her fire, burning flames in the hearth, bringing light back to us once more. Winter is brief, but life is forever. Brighid makes it so.
You are the man in the trees, the green man of the woods, who brings life to the dawning spring. You are the deer in rut, mighty Horned One, who roams the autumn woods, the hunter circling round the oak, the antlers of the wild stag, and the lifeblood that spills upon the ground each season.
I love this depiction of the Death of CuChulainn: having tied himself to the stone (in this depiction, a tree) to remain upright, the Hound of Ulster’s death is announced by the Morrigan in the form of a crow perching upon his shoulder.