Now we arrive at the twilight of the year. The skies are gray and the air is brisk. At night the wind may howl. By now, most flowers are just a memory. To capture the essence of summer, observe the regal plumes of dried grasses, both domestic and wild. They may be bleached tan from the frost, but still they stand proud.

For this spell, cut a few stems of grasses. It could be from a meadow or your own yard. Arrange them to dry completely in an empty vase or jar. Display on your altar or elsewhere. Stand before them and honor them with these words:

November's sun dims, the wild geese are flying,
Flowers bow their heads, the gardens are dying.
Dusk comes early, frost sequins the ground,
The leaves turn gold, then rust to brown.
But you noble grasses, once green and grand,
You still stand proud and tall above the land.
Here I'll keep you until spring,
A reminder that birds and flowers shall return again.

In the spring, if possible lay the stems gently upon the ground so they may return to Mother Earth.