Last night lightening flashed, thunder rumbled and the wind howled along the drive and lane. The shapes of tall white pines swayed wildly against the dark of the sky. As I lay awake listening, the change was palpable, the night full of mystery, and magic.  

Later I dreamed of a young woman with the wide fierce eyes of an owl. She stood on a mountain top, dark hair flying in the wind. Music came, she danced to a gypsy tune and reached out, hand seeking mine.

Rain thrummed steadily on the roof. Tears spilled down my cheeks.  Staining the pillow, shimmering softly in the first faint light of the coming dawn. 

I recalled a time long ago, when the still of the winter solstice and the dark of the new moon conspired to bring on a birth. A little girl. The third of three lives I would love with the deep, true love only a mothers heart knows. 

She was mystery and quiet, beauty and night. A child of the deep, the winter,  the horse-path of ancient knowledge and wisdom. A precious gift from the Great Divine.

                                            * * *
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Tonight an owl calls in the dark. Snow enfolds the earth, bringing softness and silence. The solstice grows nearer.

Decades have waxed and waned, solstices and winters come and gone. Yet still, the memory is present and clear. Through the disordered maze of stones and sorrows littering the way between us, Love flows. A great strong river, sweeping away all doubt. The time is precious and unforgotten. 

In my dreams the raven haired girl remembers too . . .


The dark thins and fades, the owl falls silent. Dawn dances rose and gold along the eastern edge of the horizon. Night reaches completion and winter nods bravely to the warmth and possibilities of spring.

The sun is on the verge of a long slow rise away from this shadow-time of healing and reflection. 

​The light is returning, inevitably, and surely as it has for countless  generations. Life goes on. The cycles turning, completing, turning again. And just as surely, Love goes on too. Lighting the dark, dancing on the mountain tops, whispering its secrets and possibilities on the wind

You are mystery and quiet
Beauty and night
Daughter of the winter
Child of the Light . . .

Love and Blessings,
SvG

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                          WHEAT STRAW HORSE

                                The process of creation
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                                       Day Four
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                                       Week Three
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                                      Week Five
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                   Elements of the land woven and bound,
                           into a unique and magical work of art.
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Well here we are again. In that space between summer and winter.

This morning the first light of the sun turned dew into diamonds, and warmed the autumnal flowers into fragrance. Cranes called to their families and lifted off. Their lanky, blue grey shapes silhouetted against a backdrop of just harvested, grain-fields gave weight to the change sensed clearly in the air. From beneath a pile of stones, a cricket chirped, the slow notes of his song betraying last nights lingering chill.

 Stepping through the silvery damp of the grasses, my feet left a trail of bent blades and dark green prints. Spiders clung to sagging webs draped from weed to weed. Silken strands held the moisture, looking like tiny strings of translucent pearls in the new light. 

Soft calls and restless movements announced my arrival as I drew nearer the barn. Enclosed safely within wood sided corrals, gentle-eyed cows and tiny horses waited, each eager for apple treats and release into their grazing fields.

Begging goodies for his hens, Mr. Rooster called out too. Taking care of them all, and walking proud little mares and stallion to their pasture, each moment shone with beauty, and grace. 

Just as chores were finished our resident Redtail Hawk came to perch in the cedar grove just north of the barn. She whistled in greeting as she often does. I spoke out softly to her. She answered, honoring our little world with a cascade of talkative chucks and chirps.

Unafraid, this fierce creature of the wild trusts and communicates. Even asking for help when 'great-white-hunters' come stalking the nearby woods.

Life is truly amazing in its interconnectedness.

If only the illusion could be dispelled and we all understood that separation does not actually exist. That nothing, and no one, is ever really alone. That unobstructed connection and trust, carries us through the gateway. Unveils our authentic selves. And ultimately, brings us face to face with destiny.

                                           Blessings, SvG







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Last night there was more rain. Splashing on the deck. Filling the ponds to overflowing. Drumming steadily on the roof. 

This morning the wild honeysuckle along the lane had turned from yesterdays bare brown to a hedge of lacy, green. In their rock-edged gardens, daffodils nodded, growing fuller by the moment. In just a day or two there will be clumps of happy yellow blossoms.

New life is all around us here on the farm. Trees are budding, songbirds incubating clutches of eggs, and even insects have suddenly appeared. The grass and early weeds are already several inches high.

In the barn, feathers rustling softly, a hen clucks and settles on her nest box. Our male dove adds his gentle tones. Throat puffed, he coos and dances for his own pink-footed lady.

I toss some feed in a bucket.

Mama goat dives in, eating hungrily. At her side, tails wagging, two goatlings suckle vigorously at her full, warm udder. Just a few days old, the little twins have already been playing king-of-the-mountain on the old cinder blocks in their enclosure!

Deep in her straw bedded stall, a tiny mare munches hay, feeling the kicks and stirrings of her unborn foal. Small cow stares, and shakes her horns. She lows softly. Soon it will be her turn at pregnancy and birth.

Taking care of them all, the wonder of new life is present and real.

A small, red form zips by my feet. I can't help but smile.
​It's evident, when you are a fuzzy puppy, every day is a very good day indeed.

Happy Springtime Blessings,
                                SvG

Like birds in flight we wing our way through life. Buffeted by gusts. Sailing calm skies. Feeling the sudden rush of updrafts. We soar with the eagles, bank with the swallows and make our way homeward with the wild white swans.

Swept up by memories, I found myself carried into the realms of the past today.

As I stepped across the new fallen snow I was young again, belly swollen with the first of the three lives I would carry. Pacing softly through the drifts, walking my way beyond pain, I moved with the new life struggling to be born.

Inhaling distance and time, I breathed in the frosty air until there was no sense of division. I was there. Giving life, giving birth, giving love, in the cold grey hours just before dawn. My body felt the pull of the full round moon, my spirit the pull of the heart.

The memories flew me into a red sunrise. I watched the new mother that was me, holding her small dark haired son. I remembered the faint sweet smell, the feel of the tiny frame, the beating of the little heart, rapid and fragile as a bird’s.  
  
Rose and gold spread across the land. The moon set, the sun rose and the baby sent his first fierce cry out into the world. The sound reverberated across the years and fell softly into the snow at my feet. Looking down I saw my sons face in the curve of a footprint, the shape of a shadow.

Grown now and lost to the tides of life, I can no longer touch him, or see the light in his eyes. But no matter the time or distance I will always hear his heartbeat. Thrumming on the wind, whispering to my own heart.
 
Even the lonely vulture is a bird of power and grace in flight.  Restorer of harmony and balance, he was held sacred by the shamans of old. A totem of the dance between life and death, male and female, light and dark, he bravely carried the sun to its proper place in the sky. Singeing his body, burning off every neck feather in the process.

I look up and see two great birds. One smoky dark, one with snowy head and tail. They circle, wings spread, playing on the wind. Bound by feather and bone, season and circumstance, they swoop and dive in almost perfect unison.

To restore our own connection and harmony perhaps we too must be willing to dare the fire, go beyond boundaries and conditioning, and carry the sun. Perhaps it is in the burning that we will finally awaken to the sacred, spread wide our wings and find balance.

The sun grows higher, shining bright across the snow. The shadows and memories fade. Another year has flown by. Soon the wild swans will be winging their way homeward.

Listening, I can hear the faint thrum,
​                    of a heartbeat on the wind . . .
                                 
                                                             SvG

'Today is cloudy, cold and grey. Earlier the wind blew in short strong gusts through the leafless branches of the big, old Box Elder by our home.

Everything is still now. Mother Earth quiet, getting ready for the coming storm.

Long ago on a similar day a child was born. A little boy with golden hair and eyes like a lions. A mother's love, a mother's pride. Born amid great tall oaks and slow southern hills. On a farm overlooking river curves and the blue-grey folds of ancient peaks., it was a time balanced precisely between winter and spring.

Years passed, the mother's true heart loved deep, but the bond was thwarted. and broken, taken by the hunger of one whose emptiness could never be filled. A thief with grasping arms and a mouth full of cleverness and false divinity. Usurper of innocence and God-given rights.

More years passed and the boy grew into a man. The mother's true heart loved on. Steady and unwavering she waited.. Getting ready for the storm which would one day come.

The wind whispered, the seasons sailed by, winter, spring, summer ,autumn. Still the mother waited, drawing strength from her love, her trust.

The cycles of the wheel turned, the stars shimmered on their courses, and yet another winter melted slowly into spring.

Great storms came, tiding over the weak and unwary, blowing through walls and doorways, seeking to restore the natural order of lands, and hearts.

In this impelling time, between winter and spring, wild geese cry and take flight, wing to wing, with last years children. 

The mother's true heart loves on, remembering closeness and a bond shared only by one.

Long ago a child was born . . . 

                                             SvG

Last evening was cold, white and mysterious. Alongside the three quarter moon, Venus lit up the southwestern sky with unusual brilliance. Following its ancient course across the heavens, the Milky Way stretched from horizon to horizon., and on Orion's right shoulder a glittering red star graced the night.

In the woods, two Great Horned owls called back and forth, their voices restless and urgent.

There is more daylight now. A subtle shift moves  through the land. Tiny whisperings awaken roots and branches, small squeaks and rustlings increase, as word spreads that the green fire is stirring.

The not-so-wild creatures sense something too. Our small horses have already begun to shed a little of their winter woolies, goat-friend's golden eyes glow with the new life growing within her, and little moon-cow dreams of sunshine and meadows.

The green fire comes in other ways as well. Sometimes it comes in the form of shimmering northern lights, or luminescence on the sea, or foxfire on a soft southern evening. Sometimes it comes as the taste of summer wine, wind among the leaves, or the light in a lovers eyes.

Last night it came as a huge green fireball. Streaking hot-tailed across the sky, until  it exploded and fell like a thousand stars into the great dark lake below. I was awake when it happened. First an emerald flash, then silence. The owls were still, the land surprised and waiting.

Wild green power reverberated through the darkness. 

Words came. Forming, unfurling . . .Time to awaken. Time to shed. Time to send out new shoots, give birth to dreams, and sing out loud to the sun. 

 The green fire is stirring. Open your heart and welcome in spring.
                                                        
​                                                               SvG

                                 

    This evening fell soft and still, as if all of the land and her wild creatures knew that a new wave of cold was on the way. Walking to the barn in the twilight I had to step carefully, wary of slick patches of ice and scattered water puddles, leftovers from the days unseasonal warmth.
   Like usual, when the outer door swung open, nickering, bleating, clucking and cooing greeted me as all eyes watched eagerly for their  caretakers arrival. I breathed deeply, taking in the earthy essences of sweet hay, animal breath, manure and damp old wood.
   Going about the chores of feeding, watering and bedding down stalls for the night, I felt the closeness of mother nature and the ancient ways of our ancestors. In that life-affirming moment of awareness the veils between past, present and future seemed to flutter away into the night.
    I sang with the doves, stroked the soft mane of the little stallion, and wished sweet dreams to the chickens on their roost. Life was good and full, the night alive with magic and wonder as I closed up the barn and made my way back towards the warmth of the house and those waiting there.
    For me it is often the simplest, most basic things that bring the greatest peace, joy and satisfaction. I often wonder what life is like for those who run so hard after money, things and so-called success. Does the wonder of a birds flight or the beauty of a spiders perfect web ever make its way through the deluge of distractions? Does the wisdom of a tree, or the silence of a stone ever gain even a moments notice? 
    
     Late in the deep-magic hours just before dawn, the frosty heart of winter echoed with the haunting calls of an owl singing to his mate. A slight breeze moved the curtain as we listened through the half opened window and knew that this time of dark and cold would soon pass and the stir of new life begin again. Cycles and seasons, the mysterious turning of the  Great Wheel . . .
                                             . 

                      Breathe deep, listen to the wind
                    and remember your own true Song.
                                 Blessings, SvG