First seeds

Drying Aquilegia seedpods. Clover flowers floating like miniature lotus flowers on a pool of green.Seas of mint and pink geranium, Pale yellow stars of the lady’s mantle Spears of LavenderAnd tiny orchids of the dead nettle. Foxgloves trumpets held on high. Soft leaves, spiky leaves, furry alchemilla leaves, leathery leaves of the peony and hydrangea. Read more about First seeds[…]

The Return

For a moment we hover at the Peak, the pinnacle, the turning point. And then the seasons turn once more. The sun begins to waneImperceptibly at first, the morning and then the evening, quietly begin to draw in. The slow descent into winter begins. So here we are. The hum of the distant motorway is Read more about The Return[…]

Coming back to Earth

I stop. Look up. Blue sky. Green hedge. Solid Earth. I land,Feeling gravity holding me close. Where have I been? Away with the fairies over the summer solstice. Journeying. The circle has gone now, vanishing as quickly as it appeared.It’s good to come back down to Earth Grounded. I roll onto my belly, feeling my Read more about Coming back to Earth[…]

Place, Purpose, Community

Wonderland Summer Soltice FestivalBriony Greenhill – Paradigm Shift https://www.wonderlandfestival.org/programme Acres of Ancestry by Marlanda Dekine-Sapient Soul For the descendants of Africans living in the USA pursuing justice for 1.5 million acres of Black-owned land. As long as I have a pig and garden, no one can tell me what to do. —Fannie Lou Hamer Mine Read more about Place, Purpose, Community[…]

New moon – Solar eclipse

Journey to the underworld Into the darkness of the ancient mariners Under a dark moon.Osiris and the black cat Embrace the mystery,release the graspingAnd stand naked To be judged. Heart which feels really heavy Is as light As a feather when measured against truth and justice.A Ring of fireAnd a Phoenix rises from an ocean Read more about New moon – Solar eclipse[…]

Proud Music of the Storm. Walt Whitman

1PROUD music of the storm,Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies,Strong hum of forest tree-tops—wind of the mountains,Personified dim shapes—you hidden orchestras,You serenades of phantoms with instruments alert,Blending with Nature’s rhythmus all the tongues of nations;You chords left as by vast composers—you choruses,You formless, free, religious dances—you from the Orient,You undertone of rivers, roar Read more about Proud Music of the Storm. Walt Whitman[…]