When Beltane comes calling,
it comes on the bright wings of May,
an explosion of color that darts and dances
in startling lines among the spring blossoms.
It arrives in a sudden rush of motion,
the mysterious revelation of now,
the finitude of the moment
that takes our breath away.
We hear in its wild progress its demands.
In voices loud and raucous, it calls to us,
instructing us to caper madly along the roads of the world,
fools in love with everything we see.
O Beltane, Blessed Beltane,
let us careen and cavort,
cantillate and concelebrate,
let us conspire and commit eagerly to this world.
For at least this one day, let us live among the clouds.
