Greetings Everyone. Here in the West we should be experiencing sunny days, cloudless skies and little wind however at present, it is raining, a strong wind is blowing and it is cold. Yes, out with the jumpers again. Variety, yes it certainly is

When I walked down to the river on Friday, it was a warm day, and the scent of flowers followed me everywhere. Spring is a delightful time, for everything is blooming. I took note of the Paper Bark Tree, which has a flower like a golden bottle brush. Tiny white, like daises, cascade across the lawns, so to a yellow one. The black eyed, yellow daisy is exerting itself to be the top coverer of grass. The river seemed to be locked in a block of ice as it was not flowing but still. in fact it looked empty, still, devoid of life. Isa, the Rune is of this energy, and in a way the energy was exploding within but locked in time. Yes, that’s it but she, the river does not have to wait too long to be on the move again. That is nature.

As I strolled through the She Oak Forest, where the floor underneath was riddled with the needles that they dropped. Each needle was etched with tiny yellow lines, like stitches, Upon each branch were forming small pale grey cones, like pine cones, that in time will drop down too. The She Oak is usually found by water, it is a female tree and related to the Oak. The nearest Oak is two blocks away and is a mighty tree but the She Oak is beautiful too in a dainty way. Their roots either dip down in to the river or are very close to it. This area floods in the Winter and the whole of the forest floor is covered in water. Sometimes the ducks swim into it and wander around. There is never a dull moment down by the river Swan.

Monday 10th January 2022

Today, as we head more into January, I notice the huge trees in my garden have shed masses of their leaves and this lead me s to ponder ‘why.’ It is the middle of Summer here in W. Australia, and hot, so why would trees begin to think this way. Is it programmed within them to do so? I really don’t know, but these trees are massive and the amount of leaves they drop is phenomenal. The strange thing is they don’t drop them altogether, As the drop there are other sections that do not, it is like a programme or time schedule. It leads me to think about the shedding of thoughts, ideas as we grow and change – even to the change in our diets because it now suits either our belief systems or for health reasons. Then one has to question one’s belief systems and how we cull thoughts, ideas, people even from our sacred circle. If we can do this we can do anything so like the tree is new and allow the thoughts, ideas waiting in the wing, reading to be born to link with ua. I have begun a Goddess, Fey, and Norse journal this year and each day I, complete a two-page about her and thoughts and ideas relating to her. Also, I include a picture of the moon and write where the Moon is travelling at this present moment. I add ideas, pictures, small stories, crochet or textile pieces, leaves, flowers, all that is pertinent to the day in hand before I turn the page, and begin anew. I honoured Nut, yesterday, today it is Oshun, who sits upon a moss coloured rock in the middle of a river, holding a fan in one hand and a mirror in another. She is capturing beauty, shapes, colours and all things magic to her. When I meditated upon her, I came to the conclusion I could also let go doubt and concentrate upon the beauty that is about me, and the diversity that is. I could feel the waves about me and as I am a riverwhytche is was most meaningful. Along this pathway, I took from my crystal cabinet and choose a black obsidian crystal ball and tonight I will dive deep into its mysteries.

My Blog  My latest story is in this Athology.

Ghostly Romance Anthology, Volume Two 

By Plaisted Publishing House 

Adult 
 

Five short ghost stories with a romantic element and three poems delving into the romance of ghosts. Written by International Independent Authors in the English of where they live. 
 
Authors are: Lynn Mullican, Mara Reitsma, Dan McAteer, Pamela J Silva, C Weave Lane & Kyrena Lynch. As  the Highway man , came a Riding – all on a Summer’s Day. 

Here is an insert from my story which is Through the Mists of Times. 

His hair the colour of an Acorn,  touched with  threads of grey 

And his dancing eyes were blue, story  as the Atlantic Sea 

And she waited by the Alder tree,   a slender form, skin the colour of ivory 

Her unbound hair a fox’s tail, and eyes the pale leaves of the Birch, 

As she waited for her love. 

He steered his dapple grey mare  

As he sensed danger ahead, and with a heavy heart  

  he sidestepped Into the hidden path in the cliff face and was soon lost to sightc 

With a heavy heart he turned his mare  

With a sack of sated whiting in his bags, to sort out for those in need.  

A dangerous trade, a lonely path,              

But she was gone, lost to his embrace. 

Heather McGill shouted out the words , ”I can’t marry him and I won’t,’  to her mother who stood with a rolling pin in one hand and the other, placed on a piece of pastry she was cutting out.  As her mother’s  ample mouth and eyes widened in disbelief  at her refusal, the tension rose  like steam  she could feel it oozing out about her and the shame she felt for talking to her mother in such a disrespectful way, was even more upsetting. Her heart beat fast and she felt the pain weighing her down. 

It is now 2024, and the weather is becoming warmer.  Down in the wetlands the frogs that were not visible or hearable have now returned.  Sadly not so many though, but if I walk down to the edge of the wetlands at dusk,evenfall, they are beginning to sing.  It is like a sympathy.  One high, one low, one a trilling.   Then it begins again. In another part of there is the home of the Ibises that roost in the trees at night.   Such a site to see them rise, open their wings and fly off.   Mother and Father Ducks are busy with their tribes and the Kookaburras, sit in their trees and laugh.    Everything has a season and I in particular have noted the timing and appearances of flowers. They don't appear all at once but one appears, and then there is a blending as the newer one  appears , then another and another.  Now the yellow petal daisy is everywhere.  So too, in the garden, as I have literarily hundreds of nasturtiums in their many shades of colours.   October is a lovely month and soon, in fact in four days time it is Halloween.  It is also Beltane, in this country, but not too many people follow that or are aware of it.  So Halloween, it is.  I have written a few poems regarding it but I will put them here if you would like to read them.  There is so much witchey history, regarding Beltane and it would be nice to participate in a Maypole dance once more.   It will be Summer soon and we are in the last throngs of Spring.   The Goddess for Spring is Brighid, and she brings forth the flowers, the birthing of lambs, in fact all to do with Spring.  In the Northern Climes there are so many stories about her appearance, and the bringing of the snowdrops etc, but we here in WA do not have snow, so we have to find our own way of working with her I think.  I will leave it here as I am beginning to ramble.     I will report about Halloween, and of course the rhymning of the River Swan.   

Here are a few shots of the time period of Beatrix Potter and Thomas Hardy. Now, what would you think if your date rocked up ‘courting in his best shepherd attire? I have lost a long article , Facebook hopefully will get back on it, re the role Nature plays in our lives, and I was saying something like that many today, have lost touch with nature/mother earth where, of course lies the magic. Beatrix Potter in an article was quoted as saying she knew every stone, every tree, post etc and this led me to Thomas Hardy, and the role of the Shepherd, who too in his lifetime, knew his sheep, the cloud formations, the ponds, rivers etc, they were so familiar to him and if he had to leave his post for any reason, he would lose the will to live. I imagine it is the same for farmers too. Well, today we lead a very different life style, but I am listening to the ravens who feed every day on a tin roofed patio, down the back yard, the chattering of one song over and over again of one note by a few pigeons and now a rooster is crowing and cicadas, yes they too are singing. Yes, we have a rooster next door. The point of all this is that in a suburban life style, we often miss the beauty of nature, Apart from the many health benefits of spending more time in natures, and the affect of its colours upon us, it leads to a calmer and quieter existence, it also allows you to tap into spirits of the trees, the rivers, the wetlands, and allows you if you do it often enough to listen, and feel as if you are part of it too, and part of the communication, that exists within it. Enough for one day, and I will make it a Thomas Hardy and Beatrix Potter week.

• 

• 

Silent is the dawn as the river flows onwards and into the mists of time. Having crossed the Troll Bridge, Lily and I were stamping on the boards, and into the wetlands, where the bed of it graces me with crimson, orange, and yellow reeds, but still the river sings along. The weather is cooler today, and Samhain is upon us. Gold too are the leaves fallen to the ground, amongst the acorns, the pine cones and from the tall white gums, that tower about me. We wander between and around the huge trunks. Some are so white they are also a pale green, cool, smooth to touch beloved of mother nature. Upon some spots of bark exist, or in stripes or none at all but a lone bull ant climbing upwards. As we wander along the river bank amongst the She Oaks, sister to the male Oak, one cannot help but wonder at the nature beauty of life. Here, indeed is the realm of the Faery, and the present of the wandering clouds, never shapeless, but have form, confirm that and as I think this river exists with Enter the Fey, as we entered another realm, and Milena’s Quest, and will again in another book – as does the cloaked figure beyond who waits for me. I bow in sweet surrender.

This is my world