In the midst of seasons changing,
I see the new beginnings shift to endings.
The blossoming garden of my childhood,
Is turning to incentive fruit.
But soon the wind starts blowing,
And spins the circle to its end,
To peacefully accept the snowing
Before it starts to melt again.
I am also welcoming the moon,
Dressed up in her robe.
She is whispering sacred feminine songs,
Of divine hope and support.
 

- Ani Vassileva