Majestic creatures, guarding secrets, looking down on mere mortals, honest to the core. Their houses magical dens, fortresses to protect, cosy time warps, separate from compromises, from conventions.
To the sun each individual confidently stretches, to pluck the energy it craves, reaching deep into the earth with crooked fingers, to grasp earthly nourishment with elegant force.
Generous bestowers of gifts to passers by as the servants of the Goddess, most glorious of all the breath of life.
Equality rules despite such a multitude of variety, simply yet powerfully they entrust their own unique magick:
A weeping willow’s graceful, drooping frame infuses with tranquility;
A tiny acer, at the beginning of its journey, whispers such possibilities gently into welcoming ears;
A mighty oak inspires with staying power, the wisdom of the years it has survived evident in every crease of bark;
A wispy silver birch immediately cheering with its wiry beauty.
Survivors, often in the face of adversity, braving the seasons in turn with ancient cycles,
From stark wooden structures they transform into bouquets of dazzling pure colour, as intricate artists they paint each landscape into an original.
Observers of the constantly changing environment, silent witnesses of history in the making,
Each spirit a part of an unfathomably vast story.
Listen.
“When the details become too much, step back, think of me. Visit me, breathe my air deeply. What do I see? What do I hear? What do I say?”
Listen.
“When the details become too much, step back, think of me. Visit me, breathe my air deeply. What do I see? What do I hear? What do I say?”
