I am the master of the beasts wild and free. I run with the swift stag and soar as a sacred falcon against the shimmering sky. The ancient woods and wild places emanate my powers, and the birds of the air sing of my sanctity.
I am also the last harvest, offering up grain and fruits beneath the sickle of time so that all may be nourished. For without planting there can be no harvest; without winter, no spring.
Worship me as the thousand-named Sun of creation, the spirit of the horned stag in the wild, the endless harvest. See in the yearly cycle of festivals my birth, death, and rebirth-and know that such is the destiny of all creation.
I am the spark of life, the radiant Sun, the giver of peace and rest, and I send my rays of blessing to warm the hearts and strengthen the minds of all.
by S.C