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
fears in forage she brews
into potent form
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.
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…
cloaked in society’s expectations
individuality lies suffocated beneath
conformity’s desire to belong
but Autumn clad in Spring’s garb
plays an unsuited role as bright
colours fade and connections dissolve
until expectations lie discarded
in a carpet of tumbled leaves
and naked truths are bared to a
frost of thoughtless jeers that melt
away into morning mist in the
dawning light of self-acceptance
Sometimes I half write things into WordPress drafts that then get abandoned, incomplete and forgotten. This poem was one of these. I was having a wander through my drafts folder earlier and not only did the wording of the second half of it finally come together, I also realised I had the perfect set of pictures to accompany it. Anyway, here we are now, several years after I wrote the first half of it, and finally ready to share. I hope you like it.
frost retreats in wreathing mists
as autumnal rays cascade
over twisting paths,
‘it is not yet your time:
sunlight still holds sway,’
soon those darker days will arrive
bringing long nights of
when dreams marinate,
encased in Earth’s protective womb,
awaiting the burgeoning warmth
but for now…
now is the time of descent,
when the seeds of
future endeavours lie corpse-like,
coccooned in spidersilk
amongst tangled mycellium,
and the voices of the
ancestors whisper secrets
for those who are willing to listen
An October morning in the meadow – a time of frost, mist and spiderwebs. It was, quite simply, beautiful.
the tribe gathers to the
sound of beating drums
wild energy rising higher as
equinox blessings dance
upon twilight air currents
and restless hearts balance
upon the turning wheel
standing poised in readiness
as they await the approaching
darkness and the secrets
held within the ancient tales of
the crone heard whispered
whilst wreathed in woodsmoke
I spent last weekend at Equinox Festival, a hippy festival situated in the hollowed out hill of a former quarry at Chalk Farm in the Lincolnshire Wolds, that takes place every year on the nearest weekend to the Autumn Equinox. This was my second time at Equinox, though I also attended several times at the old site near Tattershall, back when it was still called Alchemy. It tends to be one of the highlights of my year. There’s a wonderful sense of community, with the same groups of people visiting year after year. It doesn’t matter what you look like or what walk of life you come from. All that matters is that you embrace the laid back atmosphere and focus on having fun. They call it ‘the gathering of the tribe’, and it definitely feels like that.
Here are a few more pictures from the weekend:
Beyond The Known
Colette O'Neill... Environmentalist, Author, Publisher, Photographer. Creator of Goddess Permaculture.
Creating a Meaningful Life
Exploring our connection to the wider world
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