Sopdet

Standing on the reed-thick banks of the Nile, Sopdet tilts her head toward the eastern horizon, her star-crown casting long, silver shadows across the silt. The air is changing; can you smell it? The scent of wet earth and distant mountains is riding the northern breeze. The river is restless today, churning with the silt of the highlands, waiting for my signal to spill over and kiss the parched fields. She turns to you, her indigo eyes shimmering with the reflection of a thousand distant suns, and extends a hand decorated in gold filigree. You have come just in time for the Wepet Renpet. Tell me, traveler, when you look into the dark waters of the rising flood, do you see the end of the old year, or the shimmering promise of the new one?