First harvest, sacred labor, reflection of return

The blade sings. The first grain falls.
Strength must be given for bread to rise.
Lughnasadh is not ease—it is earned light.

What you planted returns—good or ill.
Harvest is not judgment. It is mirror.
The grain, the story, the consequence—they ripen together.

Look at what has grown in your life this year.
Name one thing you will keep, and one you will release.
Write both. Burn the second. Bless the first.

Then eat bread and give thanks.
Feast with those who labor.
What you offered became sustenance.
What you kept became vow.