View Through the Mist

a new era dawns in a haze

of fear and uncertainty

the world’s potential veiled

by hatred’s profitability

I actually wrote this poem on New Year’s Day, when I headed out for an early walk despite it being dull, overcast, and uninspiring for photography. These pictures, on the other hand, were all taken earlier this week, when we had two beautifully foggy days. I didn’t have the opportunity to do anything more than snap a few pictures from the roadside on route to work, but at least I managed to do that!

Keepsake

echoes of years passed

in fleeting moments of

remembered joy

and heartache

decoupaged upon skin

in earthly keepsakes to carry

into eternity’s embrace

A Place of Dreams and Magic

discover a hidden place

of half remembered tales

and adventures

*

a place that bears echoes

from long summer days spent

in the sun

picking flowers and

scrabbling through hedgerows

with dirt under fingernails

and dungaree knees

torn and patched and stained

*

a place that whispers

of a time

when days passed by in

a haze of carefree exuberance

spent chattering with the plants

and the trees

and the fae creatures

to be found among them

*

a place that sparks a

connection

thought lost amidst the

stresses of society’s expectations

but held preserved

deep within

by a crystalline coccoon

of pure magic

*

it is a place that simply

awaits an innocent mind

ready to dream again

When this poem was originally posted on my Instagram it was only six lines long. I only intended to play around with a couple of the words before posting it on here…

Here’s the original:

discover a hidden place of

half remembered tales long

since lost to the haze of

childhood held preserved in

purest magic as it awaits the

chance to dream again

Here are some more pictures from my last visit to the meadow, woodland and stream.

To Walk Through Autumn

follow a path through the

debris of Summer’s sun-

kissed indulgences, treading

scattered seeds into fertile

earth as you head towards

the clarity promised by

Winter’s chill, and the fresh

shoots of wild possibility

that wait to unfurl beyond

Wisdom of the Crone

for mine

will be the wisdom

of the Crone

*

she who walks the

hedge lines and liminal

spaces with back bowed

and bare feet rooted

*

custodian of the

secrets of the earth she

is at one with crooked trees

and lurking spirits

*

gathering winter’s

fears in forage she brews

ancestral knowledge

into potent form

*

yes mine

will be the wisdom

of the Crone

20191119_0934171657628412.jpg

I wrote this poem earlier this year, when my back was particularly painful and it was looking unlikely to improve any time soon. I’m only just heading into middle age but suddenly I felt old. Instead of railing impotently against a largely unchangeable situation or letting myself sink into an apathetic depression, I set my mind to making the most of it and accepting the physical limitations that an ageing body inevitably brings. I didn’t let it stop me. I continued out on my walks, even when I could barely hobble along at a snail’s pace, and, fortunately, things did start to get better. I’m still slow and hobbley, but I’m far better now than I was, and, hopefully, things will continue to improve.

One walk I did very rarely when I was at my worst was out along the Viking Way, a footpath that passes through my village. On one memorable occasion, when I’d thought myself to be having a good day, what should have been little more than a half hour walk ended up taking me several very painful hours when a nasty spasm hit me when I was up on the path. After that I tried to only walk in places also accessible by car in case I needed to call for a lift.

Earlier this week I made my way there again, and the pictures that I’ve paired with the poem were taken then. Talk of the Crone really has to be paired with wintry shots. It was the morning of the coldest day of the year so far and it began with a beautiful frost. I didn’t go too far along (just in case) but it was far enough to snap some pictures.

 

 

Washed Clean

bathe in autumnal rains until

old worries and fears and

concerns tumble free in swirls

of green and gold and russet

tones baring branches to wild

skies whilst roots delve deep

in search of secret truths

Yesterday, I spent some time with an autumn leaf.

 

Yes, it’s the leaf that Hex brought me.

CB&W: The Kitten and the Leaf

Mr Geoffrey Cat likes to bring me dead mice and birds. My kitten, Hex, brings me leaves. I definitely prefer the leaves.

This post is for Cee’s Black and White Challenge.

This week’s theme is anything beginning with the letters K or L. It’s been a while since I last joined in with a challenge like this, but I had the perfect set of pictures for these two letters. I give you, the kitten and the leaf.

Here are a few more recent pictures of Hex amongst the leaves – and amongst the gravestones in the churchyard behind my house.

Hex is the newest member of our family. He’s now nearly 23 weeks old and has lived with us since late August. For some reason I’ve not yet posted a single picture of him here on my blog. Bizarre. Hopefully this post will make up for that!

Here are a few more pictures of him looking cute.

And here are a few other pictures that show him as the cheeky demon-cat he is the rest of the time.

And on that note, I’ll leave you with a final picture that, while blurry, demonstrates just how well (as in, not at all) he and Geoff are getting on…

Bealtaine Cottage, Ireland

Colette O'Neill... Environmentalist, Author, Publisher, Photographer. Creator of Goddess Permaculture.

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