The Trees are un-leaving, revealing their anatomy,
their strong bones begin to appear in the land.
There's a queer dichotomy here as the dark draws nearer but the autumn light is newly falling on the freshly decorated ground. The green tunnels that wind their way round every hillside hereabouts are starting to open outwards into inspiring multicoloured carpets of leaves and nuts, twigs and stems. The hedgerows slowly unveiling their architecture under chilly white skies.
There are chinks appearing in the boundaries that separate this world from the other, the fast approaching darkness of winter is calling us inwards, downwards. The slow spiralling flight of a leaf from sky towards earth always makes me think of 'The Descent of Inanna'; " From the Great Above she opened her ear to the Great Below, From the Great Above the Goddess opened her ear to the Great Below, From the Great Above Inanna opened her ear to the Great Below"
These are strange times when the veil grows thinner and the old Celtic year comes to an end. Samhain approaches; the moon is still awake at lunchtime, owls call in the morning light.
It's time for un-doing, to find the broken threads of myself and follow them down, into the underworld or the unconscious (anywhere there might be wisdom), learn from my own stories, and from those ancestral tales so generously bequeathed us. For re-weaving something beautiful, powerful and potent from the chaos that it's so easy to become.
And here a drop of nectar, for that healing sweetness that the right story brings.