hellebore song

field notes from the editor

meanwhile… as i swim in the musk of damask roses, the fragile gait of wild foals, the red crush of poppy sea, i am waist deep in recollection.

i have been contemplating the pink threads of memory, how might the hush and hum of the unseen world intersects with ours. in my own background in constellations therapy we are familiar when ancient voices, muscle memory or long past events voice through to present. so i ask myself, who is writing anyway? are my celtic ancestors swooning and crooning in my veins?

my conclusion is we are joined. whether we recognise it or not we are married with nature with who lived in our many generation-ed past. the harmony we choose. the fellowship by our own invitation.

a poet that has been a companion through the submission window of our ANCIENT issue, shortly arriving. she is also included in our sky of talent within its pages. Lydia Harris lives in Westray, Orkney. i am inspired to read to you some of her work.

and here is a tiny poem written after her way…

THE HERMIT”S PORTABLE TREASURES

a miniature pouch, stitched with horses;
oiled feather of a hawk, beads of amber,
cherry pit, star grains, pearl. her world
clasped by an acorn button, a tear of 
nettle cloth, rawhide.