The High Priestess uses the grain to walk behind each of us and cast the sacred circle, while chanting….

The High Priestess:

Birds circle hungrily overhead
As through harvested fields we tread.
The smokehouse fires and burning leaves
Their scents do spiral and interweave.
Ripples circle in our wake
As rice we harvest from a lake.
The dusty Earth now shorn of locks
Swirls as pass our fattened flocks.
Much bounty may our harvest see
As we cast, so mote it be!