Frost Moon

 As I was walking home from Seshat’s last evening, the Frost Moon came sailing through into a clear sky. I followed Her and Her scudding cloud hounds, shivering and wrapping my scarf around my head, pushing my hands deep into my pockets. When it’s that cold, the air smells dry and ancient and full of electricity. You can hear the wind building up static in the trees overhead, the constant sussurus like gossip half heard.

Seshat and I had a wonderful evening, eating chips and fish and bringing each other up to date with days and doings. We talked most especially about the blocking of will; when we have the will and the energy and the desire to move forward, but when the circumstances and situations just won’t support the moves we want to make, and in some cases need to make. It’s extremely frustrating, and has the power to bring one very low. I suppose the trick is to keep battling away, not looking for the solution, just resting with the idea that there is one out there, which we can’t see yet. Or, perhaps, that there’s no final solution as such; simply a route through. The equations might not balance in the end, but by then the game might have changed in any case.

All that Full Moon light and not enough to see by! Praise the Goddess, we both need maps!!

…aaaand on Midsummer’s Day….

… We give thanks for wellington boots, thick sweaters and hot flasks of tea!

Today’s planned excursion to the woods is going to be interesting. As I sit typing, the rain’s coming down like stair-rods outside the window, from clouds that look to be sitting somewhere near the chimneypots. My dear LB on WW lamented that we never get a decent Midsummer sun these days – how right she was!!

But, we make the best of what we get – at least we won’t be worried by inquisitive dog walkers!

Fresh

The new header is, as always, from my garden. I was stalking about after a rain shower and caught the jewels of the new raindrops on the acer leaves and couldn’t resist them. This burgeoning time of the year is truly the most special, and it refreshes and uplifts me every year. Thank you, Goddess; I remember You every time I set foot upon the earth.

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And look what FoxChild grew!

Salute from the Skies

7pm last night, just staring out of the dining room window, to be greeted by two swallows, slicing their way through the blue. It’s wonderful to be reminded that time moves on, and things get brighter – in fact, it’s a metaphor for life if ever I saw one!

These birds really cheer me – their spare shape and effortless swooping makes them look as though they’re glad to be alive and flying. I love hearing them call to each other.

Things are looking up, as they always do. It’s so difficult when you’re in the middle of things to know this. But I should always remember that it happens, and more quickly if you are prepared to take the bull by the horns and ask for help. So many people have rallied round, so much real assistance has been offered. It’s wonderful.

I’m glad the Goddess sent those two heralds of summer sun and cheer to remind me of what’s really important. I’m constantly grateful for timely reminders from the Universe that we are all watched over and loved. I’m grateful also that my mind is open enough to receive the messages, at least some of the time. Foxchild wrote a lovely essay regarding this point; the comments add weight to her message.

Earthy Devotions

We spent much of the day in the sun and the wind in the garden. It’s really coming on – I’ve moved a whole load of plants around and sewn seed between them. What a luxury to be able to lean on the fork and meditate. My son made mud pies and watered random plants with his little orange can; my husband built a path with raw stone and I dug and raked the area for the new lawn. Glorious. Thank you, Goddess.

Garden Calm

My parcel from the online garden store turned up this afternoon, while I was having a coffee with an old colleague who turned up to fit a new Sky dish (this town is so small… the last time I saw him we were working at the same car dealership!).

The parcel was a great excuse to get out into the garden and dig. My son covered himself in mud and water, happy as a sandboy, and I planted a Viburnum opulis, which comes out in large white pompom flowers, and has red berries in winter; 6 Kniphofia, or Red Hot Pokers, 3 Dahlia sensation, a Blueberry bush and 6 assorted lucky dip tall perennials. The garden can only benefit – and that goes double for me.

The lawn goes down in the next month. I can’t wait until I have a lawn, so I can lie under my Rowan tree and look up at the sky through the leaves. Looking up at the sun, the clouds, the moon and stars…

 I’m looking forward, also, to being able to use the garden far more as a room. None of the rooms in the house has ever felt quite right as a ritual space – I feel that the garden might do very well in this regard. Plenty of lanterns, plenty of night-scented plants, plenty of shelter, plenty of privacy. Perfect. And I can chalk a pentagram on the terrace.

Kilpeck

With PiedPiper this afternoon to Kilpeck Church, a most amazing and beautiful Romanesque church close by, dating from around 1140.

I had read previously about the doorway, shown here, but really that was only the most outward and obvious thing to look at! It is truly a revelation around every corner, so you’ll excuse me if I post plenty of pics!

The front door. The carving is astonishingly crisp after 900 years and at least three periods of intense restoration. Despite being carved sandstone, it has borne the years remarkably well.

This tombstone was just outside the door; demonstrating the Victorian liking for the passionflower as a symbol of piety and devotion.

Here we have the famous Kilpeck Sheela-na-gig.

After the tour of the Church, we headed up behind the churchyard to Kilpeck Castle. The weather was superb, one minute hot bright sun, and the next, as we reached the top of the castle mound, it began to snow in earnest. We were like snowmen within five minutes. It felt precisely as though the Goddess was welcoming us. There are three thorn trees planted in a triangle on the summit, and some very dilapidated stoneworks which look apt to fall off the hill at any second. Being bad, we ignored the ‘Keep Out’ notices and approached the stones. They were wreathed in ivy and sloe and damson blossom, and a bee came out to see us; befuddled by the snow he bumbled off and hid. Despite the bleakness of the weather, the white and golden blossom against the snow was beautiful and uplifting to see.

These two were there, fragile but shining, to welcome us!

PP found some lovely bleached blond sticks to take home, and we left a pomander I’d made, decorated with early blossom, to say thank you to the Goddess for such a perfect day.

Words can’t compete with pictures – so I’ve let them do the talking! Blessed be!

 

My present

Today…. was the first day of Spring.

Blue skies, calm clouds, light breeze, warmth. I saw a butterfly. I saw nesting birds. I saw buds and flowers where none had been yesterday.

Thank you, thank you my Goddess.

But then, something!

Forgot, in my general air of pervasive sturm und drang, that I spent a little of yesterday moving irises to their new home in the garden, from a patch of earth we’re turning back into a lawn. The wind was bending the rowan tree above me; the sun was warming my back and drying the earth as I dug. That was my Eostre. Right there – surrounded by the garden that I love which is made to the glory of the Goddess. Silly me!

Ostara

Here we formally welcome Spring in all her glory – and all her natural power. The winds round here have been something quite frightening. It’s comforting in a way to lie in bed or sit tucked up in a comfy chair, reading, and hearing the wind wuthering around the eaves. The torrential rain and blustering of Spring works better than anything to clean the land and the air, I find. I went outside yesterday evening to put some vegetable scraps into the compost bin and the air smelled abundantly fresh, and clean, and new. In fact, I was instantly transported back to my childhood, and Easters spent in my grandmother’s home in Cornwall.

Scents and memory must be one of the most primordial associations possible for human beings; the memory for scents, in my fanciful imagination, brings to mind the knowledge of a home place found again by scent; the smell of belonging to that place. Perhaps, perhaps not.  But the smell of the fresh air, the damp earth, the trees and the first cut of the grass say Spring! to me in a way that the word can’t possibly do justice to. Happy Ostara!