​The Promise of spring. A pair of swans our wetland preserve, and the arrival of a tiny, gorgeous spirit horse!
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​                    Five days old, born on the equinox . . .

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After spending three magical days and nights with us our amazing turkey friends vanished. Returning to the wild, just as mysteriously as they had come.

While they visited the turkeys followed me everywhere, seeming to have no fear. In the morning they were waiting by the front door, then would come along as I walked the rounds of chores.

First the big tom, then all the hens followed along down the little path, and yes, even on into the barn.! They were all so curious, investigating everyone and everything. Once satisfied they stood around watching and chirping as I fed and watered all our usual barn friends.

The really odd thing was, it was never about food as some might like to think. They just seemed genuinely to want to be near us, strangely curious and bonded. And always looking up, talkative. Chattering  away in their own mysterious and ancient language, as if trying to convey something of great importance. 

Two of the nights the turkeys flew to the top of our two story house and roosted on the peak of the roof. The third night they took up position on the front porch. Two roosting on the back of the bench left of the door, two on the back of the bench right of the door. As if they were watching over us, sentinels of earth energy and and deep wild power. 

The next morning the turkeys were up early, a rosy-gold light tinting the frosty trees and ground. They hopped off their perches, then walked single file away towards the woods.  Never to be seen again. 

The experience was astounding, the magic intense, real and humbling. We will never see a turkey the same again.

The spirit of Earth Eagle came, there was grace, we are honored.
Thank you.

SvG


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Snow lies on the ground, winter continuing to shroud the land. Most of the wild animals are staying hidden away out of sight. Only the occasional set of tracks testifies to unseen activities and lives.

That is why this mornings encounter was such a surprise.. 

First there was a commotion in the yard Our male shepherd was stalking something. Then there was a whirl of black and white fur, flapping wings and grey-brown feathers. We called out, hurriedly retrieving our little buddy from his glorious chase.

To our surprise the feathers belonged to a large wild tom turkey. Along with three hens the bird had evidently been snatching food from the bird feeder-tub on the front porch.

After a few minutes every one had calmed down and our new acquaintances cautiously climbed the few steps back onto the porch.

We watched in awe. In a lifetime of experience and nature watching neither of us had ever been this close to a wild turkey. Normally these wary creatures flee in a panic before one even sees them. And these were completely wild birds.

After a time of viewing them through the large sliding door, I ventured to squat down and open it a crack. Speaking softly, I held out a handfull of seeds and corn. The turkeys chirped, gurgled and tweeted sweetly amongst themselves, seeming more cautious and curious than afraid.

Soon the hen with the bluest head approached. She held my gaze for a moment or two, considering. Then she actually took the feed. Slowly, gently I reached towards her with the other hand. We connected, my fingers brushing the feathery softness of her breast, the moment was powerful, pure. 

The magic continued. For hours. My new friends were soon following along behind as I made my way to the barn for morning chores. They investigated everything. The buildings, the fences, the other animals. Then as I threw some scratch feed to Mr. Rooster and his hens, I called toward the turkeys. Gathering around my feet, they watched attentively as I tossed a little feed their way too.

Then it was back to the house. The turkeys stayed by the barn, hens feeding,. male intent on displaying and performing a little wing dragging circle dance. Claiming his girls, his new territory.

After a while I went back outside and called. It was truly amazing. There the turkeys came, slowly, single file, from the nearby cedar woods. Through the yard, up the path and back onto the porch to peck up the cracked corn placed in a pan for them.

And I've heard it said that turkeys are among the stupidest of animals. These amazing wild beings learned in one un-orchestrated session the meaning of my sing-song dinner call.

                                       Spirit Sisters


When you are your authentic self, walking in stillness, not wanting, nature and Mother Earth respond. Then, in innocence, true connection takes place.
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                                       Earth Eagle

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Sacred messengers of abundance, trust, dignity, innocence, peace, harmony and shared blessings.


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                                 The Curious One

Deep Peace, 
SvG


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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