Tue, Sept 26, 2006
I walked through the forest alone today, to celebrate my birthday for myself... and walking had this experience I'd like to share with you. Sit down while I spin you this tale, taken from my journal this afternoon.
I've sat down to write because I came to a crossroad and for some reason was struck dumb with awe, recognition, precognition... the trail sign said " <--- Berlin Rd ---> "
The path crossing the trail I am on has deeply worn twin ruts with rocks and grass between; old cart tracks, I think, gently curving along through the forest.
I feel suspended in a faerie story; if I sit here quietly the noble Fey will come, or perhaps an old crone; or, perhaps, legendary love. This is of course what my heart wishes. A love of legend, reciprocal and true. If this is indeed an ancient crossroad holding all the magic of the thinning veils (now that the equinox is past), then a lass can sit and dream of love and along he comes whistling a fine tune, carrying perhaps a bag of apples from the orchard nearby...
Yes, on my 31st birthday I still believe in magic, and love.
What's this I hear? Footsteps approaching! I dare not look... but I do. Not he, says me! It is an older man with a friendly smile who does not break his stride. Sigh.
Ah, but the sun is gentle and warm and the breeze speaks of crisp nights to come, tis magic enough I know.
Yet I sit at this crossroad and dream, did gypsy carts pass this way, to entertain the villages in the fall when the leaves are bright and the skies blue? I can picture the beautiful black and white gypsy vanner horses, pulling gaily painted carts decked with banners. Did lovers pass this way to their neighbor's orchards to help with the harvest?
It appears though that there is naught at this crossroad but me, the crickets, the moss and the trees...
Deeper into the forest I am now, after passing among old mortarless stone walls meandering through the trees, now purposeless as the Mother has seeded wild chaos back into these lands. I am on a large flat expanse of river shale with a quiet, neat and small fire pit in the center- so like me to find the fire... The trees are parted slightly and I can see across a valley to another hill beyond, covered in trees; I am removed from time here.
Pines surround this glade and it is quiet but for their whispers. It is a sound I love, a lullaby that reaches deep into my soul and caresses my heart. I get this way when I am alone with the trees, a stillness tinged with melancholy; yet so full of love and wonder that I burst with it, palms hot, mind dancing.
The magic is here, in my heart as much as in these old trees and stones. I am alone but never lonely.
I feel my ancestors in this place. Did they smell the ferns and feel that deep longing, as I do? Did their hearts swell for the simple beauty of sun on stone and green? We were witches, as far back as the heart can recollect, and so I believe they did; they were drawn into this old wild quiet beauty as much as I, but perhaps their understanding of what this longing means was more complete...
A chill comes now to the air as evening comes, and so I will make my way home. I will come here again, even in winter's deep snows...