rise and root

***

~*~*~*~



The Flame Haired Solstice Dreamer

Cold winter brings the Everfrost and jewels every tree
In a forest new as birth and old as old can be
A flame~haired dreamer wanders there and shelters from the wind
And spins her dreams around the trees to break the ties that bind
She takes her thread and spins anew and how the Greenwood smiles
As she spins a spell for freedom and for her spirit Wylde

The dreamer finds an ancient oak and shelters in his lee
In a forest new as birth and old as old can be
Tis summer now and birdsong weaves its magick through her spells
And humming bees drum drowsily in the foxglove's bells
The dreamer sits beneath the oak with yarn upon her knee
And spins and knits and weaves her dreams and sets her spirit free

***
"When birds fall from the sky and the animals are dying, a new tribe of people...shall come unto the earth from many colors, classes, creeds, who by their actions and deeds shall make the earth green again. they will be known as the warriors of the Rainbow"

Hopi Prophecy

~turning~

here I am again
 sitting at my little kitchen table, watching the sun cross the old walls and roofs that scale the hill of the old town quay behind me.

this past year has seen my spiritual path wander and drift, my rituals and garden fires, my oracle and tarot readings, my pathworkings...all slowly died away.
I think mostly because I am becoming used to a new life, a new pace of living, the everyday things such as housework, paying bills, shopping, cooking, cleaning, washing, my studies, fitting in work, my weekends with Mark. 

however deep down things have not changed. I am still feeling the changes in the air, the shift as the great wheel of the year turns, the shift in how the air around me smells.
its subtle, very subtle but I still feel it.

it started back in june, just a hint, a feeling.
this hint slowly grew and I started feeling it distinctly in a change in the air in the early morning. one morning I walked round to my car to load up some things to take to Mark and given it was 6am on a Saturday...the cobbles does not come alive until well after 9am even in the summer...I wore my boxer shorts and a jumper for the two minute walk. the air held that slight chill that always tells me that autumn is around the corner.
now on the last day of august that chill is a tangible thing, I can almost see it, hear it. the chill becomes very obvious in the early hours and I find myself slipping on a jumper or poncho while I boil my kettle for my first tea of the day, the sun is shining but the blue sky isn't really holding the same kind of heat as it has been this summer and the evenings are bringing its own kind of chill.

even the cobbles feel different
its almost like a fading away as the tourists are slowly leaving and the little café two doors away, Drifters, where Mark and I buy our sunday morning latte, is only two months away from closing for the winter
by the end of October the cobbles will once again come under the sole ownership of the cobble dwellers, the seasonal cafes and seafood shacks will close and only locals will pass through this old cobbled lane, while the dwellers will wonder with each storm and high tide if the waters will reach out and cover the cobbles leaving us stranded as it has in the past...

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All things share the same breath~the beast, the tree, the man, the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.



Chief Seattle






Johney Gaul~1915

Johney Gaul~1915
1890-17 september 1918~France