I am also the last harvest, offering up grain and fruits beneath the sickle of time so that all may be nourished. For without planting there can be no harvest; without winter, no spring.

Worship me as the thousand-named Sun of creation, the spirit of the horned stag in the wild, the endless harvest. See in the yearly cycle of festivals my birth, death and rebirth - and know that such is the destiny of all creation.

I am the spark of life, the radiant Sun, the giver of peace and rest, and I send my rays of blessings to warm the hearts and strengthen the minds of all.