Curlew

I went out onto this wetland today. I knew I would be passing it about lunchtime as it was on my way to a place I had to go to in the afternoon. So I took a sandwich and a drink and stopped to walk out across the bog. I sat quietly to eat my lunch and then sat for a bit longer just immersing myself in the watery beauty of the place. I heard a small voice inside me then asking for a word or a whisper in reply. Was it me or some part of me, or was it something else speaking through me?  I wasn’t sure.

Then I heard the sound of the curlew, a long bubbling liquid sound that starts slowly and then falls over itself like a swift-running stream. These birds are now rare. Although I didn’t see it I was lucky to hear the unmistakable call. Was it the response the voice asked for?  I ’m not sure. But it was enough. The wetland had spoken to me and I walked back across the boardwalk over the bog with the silvery sound in my heart.

Belonging

Wood Sorrel and Celandines in the lane today

A warm spring day with wood sorrel and celandines all along the banks. Yesterday evening I went out into the garden and sat on the little rickety bench until it was dark. I was looking towards the west and when it got dark I saw the slim crescent of the Moon setting and in a line above were the planets Jupiter and Venus, with Venus really bright and quite high in the sky.

It was magical. Then I had a sudden very strong feeling of belonging. Like I’d just found my place in the Universe. I was overwhelmed. Everything seemed so still and close like it was holding me, keeping me where I should be in relation to everything else. I’ve had feelings like this before, but this was so intense, yet also so peaceful and calming, so I felt that everything is in its right place and I was … I’m searching for the right word here, ‘serene’, ‘calm’, ‘blissful’, ‘contained’ are all words that get near it, but not quite there.

For me, being on this earth at this time, and living simply as I do, is just right. I know it’s not the same for everyone, and hasn’t been for me at times, but if I can just hold onto this, whether I’m ‘happy’ or ‘unhappy’ at any time won’t matter. Because I’m contained within this feeling of belonging.

God of the Mist

There have been so many misty days lately, so many times when all the woods and hillsides are covered in white haze like clouds. And so the God of the Mist has made himself a presence in the valley where there is always a bit of mist along the river early in the morning.

I went there and he surprised me – whispered to me – not in words but with wispy misty thoughts giving me a shiver. Now I know him. He has touched me. Should I call him by a name? I don’t know. No name I can think of suits him. I don’t think he answers to words at all. Just shivers and shudders and dampness on the skin. He just drifts, yet he feels like a shape rather than shapeless. But dense, something that’s not seethrough but opaque. Like he doesn’t want an identity. Just to drift and be a veil over other things making them mysterious and shapeless like him.

A Cloudy Day

Yesterday I never saw the Sun behind the clouds. They were so low that everything was misty. I went out for a walk. Nothing special, just across a few fields and along a few quiet lanes. It was like walking in a dream. Not like the dream walking I’ve been practising a lot lately, though I think that helps me see things even when I’m not doing it. This was a walk through mud, over rusty gates and through a couple of messy farmyards. There was one place on a wooden footbridge over a rushing river that had a ‘picture postcard’ view with snowdrops on the banks. But mostly it was a grey day with no leaves on the trees, few flowers in bloom and the long views across the hills lost in cloud. But I felt so close to everything. When someone got off a noisy tractor and exchanged a few words it was like we were exchanging tokens of a secret pact, though I only know him slightly and I’m sure he was just being polite. How magical the ordinary, even drab world at the end of winter, can be. So real and at the same time so like a dream.

Paths in the Witchwood

I've been wandering, lost, on the fey paths, led astray by my own desire to find the darkest part of the dark wood. To discover a faun to walk or dance with me.

But here I am back in my glade again, looking for some sign of another on the path. There are some that I come across in posts about the misty places, the magic gateways and the groves of the enchanted forest.

Perhaps we will meet on one of the winding paths of the Witchwood. If so, take my hand and let us walk together.