Demeter And Persephone Quotes

“It happened so quickly. One minute I was plucking the flower, and the next I was in his chariot immersed in darkness. I struggled to wrench myself free from his grasp and run away. I twisted as far as I could, hoping to see mother chasing after me. But ahead of me, behind me, on either side of me, everywhere I looked, all I could see was darkness.”
― Tamara Agha-Jaffar, A Pomegranate and the Maiden

“Kore stood amidst the the sheaves of barley to wave Demeter over, then crouched again and poked her finger into the soil. Dark green leaves shot out in every direction, and she circled her wrist upward, raising a stalk out of the earth. She stood slowly. The plant crept toward her hand. Kore splayed her fingers wide and a purple blossom sprang from the thorny stalk.
"Oh, Kore, if you grow a thistle in the barley field, someone might prick their finger."
"Wait," Kore said, smiling. "Just watch."
A fiery copper butterfly fluttered on the warm breeze and alighted on the blossom. Demeter smiled.
"You see? I saw her wandering in the barley and made her a home. You don't mind, do you?"
"My sweet, clever girl, of course I don't." Demeter hugged Kore. The butterfly folded its wings, fed and content.
"My thistle won't interfere with the harvest, will it?" Kore knit her brows.
"Not in the slightest."
The butterfly spread its wings, sunlight catching them as they fanned. "I don't think she will be alone for long. Surely a good mate will come looking for her.”
― Rachel Alexander, Receiver of Many

“People throughout Hellas had built shrines of wood and living things to Kore and to her mother aeons ago, maintaining them generation after generation. Her private sanctums were always open to the sky, the sunlight, the honeybees and birds that helped her tend to the new shoots and flowers. One of Kore's favorite sacred places lay in this very clearing at the base of the oak tree. Clusters of white larkspur grew up the perfect circle of green willow shoots that served as her walls. Her ceiling was the vaulted branches and the stars wheeling above. The grass beneath her was soft, not wet with dew as it sometimes was, and strewn with rushes and violet petals upon which she made her bed.”
― Rachel Alexander, Receiver of Many