Fall equinox - terre sicule

The myth of the seasons usually highlights the renewal of spring - stark contrast to the winter months. But in the southern Mediterranean, things are different. At this equinox, balance comes in unexpected ways.

What you call the end
Is the opening thrust:
Wild yeast charges the fruit
And the air is sour with must.
Jasmine blooms along stone walls,
White stars on prickly, furrowed fields
That sprawl, burlap-brown, in the bite of heat,
Bitter, craggy, water-starved.

The landscape is the medicine,
If you can stomach it.

Kore couldn't, but now returns
Because she felt wheat berries push
Into that earth, all acrid-red,
That soon will see a new green blush
Spread, and grow, and bring the bread.
She knows new wine will flow at last.
Ede, ede! Tachy, tachy!
Come now, come now.
Come fast, come fast.

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