Camping
Went to Whispering Pines with the girls.
Stayed in the big cabin.
Swam naked in the lake in October.
Played with clay.
Celebrated Autumn and the harvest and gave thanks.
Built a nice fire.
Played games.
Ate lots of food.
Said bon voyage to a friend. Crash was there too.
Now I have to … Zzzzzzzzz …
To Tread Lightly
I wash myself in the river.
As I do so I murmur quietly. I have learned the power of words. I give it voice. Using my breath. Vibration.
I wash myself in the river. The cool water runs down my legs and arms and neck. Though the hem of my skirt is tucked up into my waistband it still gets wet. My hair is the color of clotted blood when it is damp and under a night sky, it drips river water down my back. It is not dirt that I remove with the water … but it is swept away by the current nonetheless.
Crash paddles to me, returning from her attempts to follow the offering tossed in the river as they floated away. She gives me a look that says “Why the hell are you throwing sticks and bits of plants into the river if I’m not to chase them?”
I laugh and beckon her to follow me unto the shore. My sandals make squelching sounds as I work my way up the river bank.
I come to a tunnel of vegetation that runs parallel to the river. One side is the weeded… Continue reading
Little Random Things
I haven’t been up for writing a long and proper post lately, I’ve got stuff going on and all. But I have been writing little bits and pieces of this and that in a word document. Sort of like a series of mini posts or fragments from a stream of consciousness. Well, here they are:
Sometimes it’s annoying when your divination set and spirits keep telling you the same damned thing. Especially when it’s freaking obvious. Yes, I know that, thank you … got anything else to say? No? Uh, well fine, thanks anyways.
You know someone is really into arts and crafts when they stop in mid ritual to chat about an afghan.
I had the girls come over after Bren finished hauling his stuff out to give me a hand. It was kind of like that scene in Practical Magic when they use the phone tree system to call for help. Only I didn’t have a sexy but dead guy possessing my sister. I just needed some help getting off my self pitying ass to move some furniture and clear a little negative energy. I felt bad and tried backing out of it last minute,… Continue reading
Heart on Sleeve
I wear my heart on my sleeve. It just so happens that my heart belongs to my Craft, my gods and my spirits.
Oh dear.
Shall I back up a bit?
I was chatting with a fellow Witch about a common problem that faces those of who delve into the … more intense … parts of Witchcraft and Paganism.
You meet someone, or (better yet) have a friend, who is interested in your Craft. They want to be introduced to Witchcraft, or your style of it. They probably aren’t total newbies; they might be practising Pagans or follow a more straight and narrow form of Witch-y goodness. But they have an interest in the crooked path, Hedgewitchery, spirit work or some such. I don’t necessarily mean something like an apprentice; this also applies to simply sharing with a friend.
So you open up a bit and let them in.
If you’re used to being kinda alone, like most of us (hmmm wonder what’s behind all the blogging?) then you might make the mistake of going too fast. You get all excited that you have someone to share with and open up the flood… Continue reading
The Dawn Chorus
We slip into the night, my dog and I.
The city is quiet, the neighbourhood is sleeping. Gone are the city sounds of traffic and blaring TVs. I can hear the crickets chirp and the wind in the trees. I can hear the river as it passes over scoured stone.
The street is lit by street lights, garden lights and the waning moonlight. I can see the stars tonight.
Our street is cooled by the night breeze and a rain storm that passed by hours before.
Surrounded by people, we are alone.
Crash takes off for her favourite corner, where the big rose bush blooms and the weedy mustard whispers of wilder places. I gently stroke the pink roses and a few petals are given up to me. I murmur my thanks. Crash gives her water to the shrubbery and weeds.
We turn and head for the river. As we get closer, the old dog’s ears prick. She wiggles with excitement. She loves the river. She races ahead, through the green park, under maple trees and to the promenade. The poor old thing is too short to see over the concrete banister that blocks her… Continue reading
To Fly By Night
Hoofprints in the Wildwood
Recent Comments