Friday, September 28, 2012

Weather Report.

Time: Very early or very late. Otherwise known as 6:30am.

Conditions: Cool, humid. Expect passing bugs and occasional Samahin preparation-frenzy.

Music: The daytime birds woke and sang just as Orion faded away in the creeping daylight, while a barred owl hooted its goodnight/goodmorning.

Forecast: Riding lesson, cleaning, horse tending, Samhain preparations, employer-enspelling*, vegan chili-making.

In other news, the wren seems to have gone elsewhere. I've checked its roost on the front porch, and it hasn't been there for several days. I do miss seeing that little ball of feathers. I wish it well, and am pondering whether it gave me something or came to take away something I didn't need. Maybe it did both. Maybe it was just a bird.

Yeah, right.

*One of my employers isn't really treating one of its horses terribly well. While I can't afford to lose my job over it by saying too much directly, I sure as hell can bring it to the attention of those who are In Charge Of Such Things and toss some heavy witchery at the situation.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

The Land.

"...'Traditional Pagans' will often feel connected to a place on the land through which they experience the sacred, become attached to that place and assume the roles of guardians of it. They try to stay warm and close to it. This is a common tendency, and an ancient one." - Robin Artisson, Becoming A Traditional Witch

I miss The Land.

The Land here at the new place is very welcoming. The Front Meadow, the backyard, the star jasmine and the gardenia hedge up the walk, the azalea and the heirloom ivy all welcome me. I don't think I've felt such oneness with a piece of land in years. When I introduced myself to it more formally a weekend or so ago, a feeling of familial love came from it.  I/we know you, and you know me/us. We will care for one another. And thanks for leaving those salmon skins out for the raccoons, it said. 

I still miss the land I was forced to leave. I miss my willow tree (I rescued & replanted it from an inappropriately dry patch of the front yard, and it rewarded me by turning from a foot-high sapling to a 20-foot giant in four years), my turk's-cap, my lemon bush (which was actually bearing fruit this year), my tiny rosemary (who will water you now?), and my clematis. I miss the spirits of the Land that I didn't even have time to say goodbye to.

I know this Land and I will be together for at least a year, and that I will be back here to visit and cat-sit after the Husband and I move out. I will grow new plants and give offerings to the animals and spirits. I love it, and it loves me. The more I spend time with it, the sooner I'll heal from the loss of the other Land.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

Happy Equinox.

I spent the equinox at home, having a memorial dinner for Housemate #2's mom, who passed away in August. There was lasagna, garlic bread, salad, queso and chips, wine, root beer, fudge, and companionship.

Family was, as might be expected, a big theme. Friends #1 & #2 have been spending a lot of time on, and told us all the stuff they've found about their families so far. Family legends that proved to be just that, famous folk they're related to, and all of it terribly interesting.

Friend #1 also brought us a wonderful gift - a squat, corpse-green pumpkin. It's creepy and otherworldly and beautiful, and when viewed from above, the sections make heart shapes. It's the blue-green of decay; it's a healthy fruit waiting to nourish us. A perfect gift for the balance of light and dark before the days grow longer.

Monday, September 17, 2012

Wren and Toad

Last night, after dinner was made and the kitchen cleaned, I started gathering up my things to go cleanse my and the Husband's room. Well, cleanse and make mine/ours, since Big Brother Housemate has this place so spiritually sparkly that it's like a magical fallout shelter.

I couldn't find my cauldron. I realized I had no charcoal. I was rooting through boxes like a crazed squirrel and getting more frustrated by the moment. Husband suggested that I put it off until the next day. But I was driven to do what I'd set out to, and nothing short of having all the damn boxes fall out of the closet on top of me was going to stop me. So I found Big Brother and got the necessary supplies, then stepped out on the front porch to smoke, listen to the rain, and get in the right headspace.

The wren was there again.

See, the front porch has these square, slender columns, and this wren has been sleeping up at the top of one of them, on a ledge just big enough for it, for a few weeks now. When we go out to smoke, it doesn't wake and fly away. I was worried at first that it was a stranded fledgling, but it leaves during the day and then comes back. It is clearly able to fly. And it keeps coming back, making a little puffball of feathers up there until morning.

That little bird makes me happy, roosting up there, obviously feeling safe enough to sleep through us coming in and out. I sat down in the chair I've dragged outside, and leaned over to sit my drink down next to me. I startled hell out of a Gulf Coast Toad, but he didn't hop off. So I moved my drink a little, and shared space peacefully with bird and toad.

When the five minutes before ritual is full of soft rain and wild creatures, you know it's going to be good. Maybe not special-effects-like-in-"The Craft" good, definitely not can't-get-grounded-for-hours good, but a deep, soul-restoring kind of good that hums along in the background.

I slept like a baby. Or maybe like a wren.