An Enchanted Place
discover a magical world
Awaken
awaken
*
to inquisitive sunbeams that
nudge and question and seek,
illuminating each shadowy fear
that hides within the morass
of insecurity coccooning
deep Winter’s sleep
*
awaken
*
to gaze with innocent curiosity
upon the world’s bright new
beginnings, eager to embrace
each glimmering opportunity
held in pristine readiness
within bejewelling dew
*
awaken
Snowdrop season is now well and truly upon us. Whilst they’ve been flowering in gardens around here since the end of December, it’s only been over the last few weeks that those in more sheltered spots – such as the little wooded path beside the meadow – have come into bloom. They’re such a beautiful sight, and a sure sign that Spring is approaching. We just have to weather the Winter storms being thrown our way first…
This year, for the first time ever, there are actually snowdrops in the meadow itself. Kate, who owns and manages the space, tells me that she’s added lots of extra bulbs all around. Each year the meadow is transforming further away from the neglected farmer’s field it once was. I look forward to seeing how it continues to develop.
Here are some more snowdrop pictures I’ve taken around the meadow, the little woodland, and around the village lanes.
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
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.
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