The Aspen Tradition

I. Morning Light and Silver Scythe  
Awake to the sun’s first gilded kiss,  
Fields ripple like laughter under sky—  
Wheat waves in gratitude, seeds dreaming of bread,  
Our hands entwined with earth’s promise.  

II. The Feast of First Harvest  
We gather at tables hewn from fallen oak,  
Bowls brimming with berries, fresh milk, and grain,  
Feet dusty with days of labor and love,  
Hearts humming ancient songs of plenty.  

III. Joy as Defiance  
When newsprint shrieks of closing doors and stolen rights,  
We answer with clinking cups and wild dance—  
For every policy that silences a voice,  
We’ll fill a room with laughter louder still.  

IV. Golden Threads of Solidarity  
In the loom of days, unity is our pattern:  
Threads of queer brilliance, strands of sister-strength,  
We weave together hope for freedom,  
And wrap each other in radiant armor.  

V. Against the Gathering Shadows  
Murmurs drift along the threshold, coaxing us to step away;  
we bloom like ripened barley, dawn’s own promise on display.  
When the circle’s warmth grows faint and welcome seems to wane,  
we kindle every lantern—open-hearted, unbowed, again.    

VI. Bread and Resistance  
Each loaf we bake is a quiet revolt:  
Yeast rising against gravity, as we rise  
Against the consolidation of greed—  
Our crumbs feed the hungry flame of justice.  

VII. Song for the Planet  
River and rain, oak and ash—our siblings call.  
We pour libations of praise on thirsty soil,  
Tilling with gratitude, not dominion,  
Sowing tomorrow with gentle hands.  

VIII. Machine’s Shadow, Human Fire  
Let the hum of AI promise ease—  
We refuse to let it silence our craft.  
Our creativity, a wildfire of irreplaceable spark,  
Burns in every gesture, every spun tale.  

IX. Voices Across Frontiers  
From Kyiv’s embattled streets to Jerusalem’s walls,  
We lift our voices—prayer as echo, echo as action.  
For every war-torn tear, we offer courage unbroken,  
A lantern passed from soul to soul.  

X. Celebration as Revolution  
Light lanterns at dusk, gold and flame,  
Dance barefoot on dew—claim joy as our right.  
This festival of first fruits is our anthem:  
We live, we love, we resist—with laughter.  

XI. Promise of the Coming Cycle  
Let August’s warmth settle in our bones:  
We carry its flame into cooler nights,  
Knowing each seed of joy we plant today  
Becomes tomorrow’s harvest of freedom.

Share your own poetry or prose celebrating the season, share your joys, and ways that you’re supporting others during these times.

May your harvests be bountiful, may you both share and receive, welcome and be welcomed in turn.