Wreaths of Pyanepsion

Come muses. Sing to me of nimble stepping Ariadne of the Labyrinth in whose veins ran the blood of the Titans. Of the sun and the ocean. Tell me the story of dark spaces in this time in the dark of the year. Play a melody and tell me of love.

Come muses. Make the bay laurel wreath for the time of the little madness. Let us make our wreaths and bind them with ribbons of white and purple for song-wringing Apollo and wild-eyed Dionysus. Let us beg their aid. And if that aid fails, let us hang upon our wreaths reminders of all the words and deeds that we regret. So that we may burn them with spring.

Come muses. Tell me a tale of light-haired Ariadne and her lover. Do not stint with the wine for I have a desire to dive into a story tonight.