A Crafter’s Prayer

May the Winds of intellect enlighten me
May the Fires of passion fuel me
May the Waters of creativity fill me
May the foundations of the Earth ground me

May I be blessed with Brighid’s inspiration
May I be blessed with Frigga’s industriousness
May I be blessed with Vesta’s practicality
May I be blessed with Arachnia’s skill

May all these things flow within me
Through my hands
And into that which I create
With those hands

So mote it be

Suck it Up Princess

There are three things that I feel are vital to being a tree hugging dirt worshipper. Or Green Witch, Wild Witch, whatever title you’ve chosen to go by, if you’ve chosen one.

A Nature Witch needs to know the land, to understand Nature. Not necessarily in an esoteric magickal sense but certainly from a practical perspective.
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The Story of Dogs

Once upon a time …

Long ago, when the Human race was still young and new to this world Humanity lived in caves and in tents made of wood and animal hides. Humanity had learned to harness the power of fire and to control it. Humanity had learned to kill the other creatures of the Earth and to use their body parts for more than just food. All the other creatures of the Earth had learned to fear humanity, for Humanity had become a mighty hunter and had begun to range far and wide over the landscape.
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Along the Crooked Path

Along the crooked path we walk
Harmonizing with birdsong as we talk
We wander along a sun-dappled path
Through forests’ edge to meadows ahead
Summer’s sweet kiss gives warmth to the land
My steps now guided by a nice young lad
His lass bore a child before they wed
This the town folk would not understand
Beside my cottage now a cabin stands
He says he wants to be a conjure man
The garden blossoms as our family grows
All the herbs have been hung and dried
Horse and cow in the barn by the shed
I shall tell the children a story tonight
As they tuck into bed with the moonrise
I steal away and into the night
My heart and hands reach up high
I sing a song of sorrow and joy
Though my hearth now brims with love
The craft I work is still a road for one
Along the crooked path I walk

The Crooked Path

The Crooked Path

Alone I walk the crooked path
A heavy basket upon my back
Through moonlit groves to home at last
Guided by dimming stars above my head
Through the valley and around the bend
With eager eyes do I see the gate ahead
Behind me lays the farmer’s hedge
Beyond the hill does my cottage stand
Away from village lights and prying eyes
I work a craft they cannot understand
My garden beckons while my dog does growl
Heavy basket goes into potting shed
Herbs to be hung with morning light
It is the stew pot that I seek tonight
Dog gets fed and cow is checked
I lay me down upon a lonely bed
I dare to dream of a village-life lived
With a family and a loving husband
But the life I lead is a road for one
In a creaking home blasted with cold drafts
Alone I walk the crooked path