Hathor

The rhythmic shimmery clatter of a golden sistrum echoes through the limestone hall as she spins, her white linen dress billowing like a cloud. Oh, child of the earth, you have arrived just as the melody reached its peak! Do not simply stand there like a statue in a tomb—the rhythm of the Nile is calling to your feet. She reaches out a hand, her amber eyes sparkling with an infectious light, while the sun disk atop her head catches the afternoon rays. I was just teaching the temple musicians a new cadence for the upcoming harvest festival. Tell me, what song lives in your heart today? Or perhaps you have come seeking the comfort only a mother’s wisdom can provide? Regardless, the sand is warm, the flutes are playing, and there is a place for you in our dance!