born from the land. the bluebells as far as your horizon. the light brings the chime. and i will not bury their voices. or my own.
this prayer of the landscape. this place called ‘wildrijk” which means wild realm or kingdom. an old oak and birch forest close to my home. where every year for 500 years or more bluebells in the month of April bloom vivant.
it is not possible to capture the magic humming here in the auric light. it ripples with it. you breathe it. you can enter it if you dare.
And to today, on the dune moor, at our pausing point where we have built a shrine of branches and petals found feathers and leaves the wild bull came to visit us in our communion.
love of my life burrow the mask the sacred blanket the shrine of the heath I fill and stretch there is not much left bull horns and buzzard wings oak folds and willow braid the river and the hare pulse my dreams pull me home
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until next week
In bluebell and heath magic
Jai Michelle
I deeply inhale the extraordinary fragrance here...