Hay wain…

Hay harvest, my favourite time of year when summer peaks, not that we’ve had much of one, but I for one cherish the feel of an elongated spring that seems to stretch through to winter.

Our farming neighbours take the hay, clearing our fields just in case we have a dry spell when fires are more prevalent and snakes slither through more often… their livestock is in turn, fed on rich grasses and clover in winter.

By Lughnasadh, second harvest on 2nd February, we will organise a locals gathering for our little community. A sharing, great company, good food and wine and a time to say thank you for the abundance we share.

Berries will be harvest ready in batches… they pair well with local meats and cheeses. Fresh tomatoes will be coming on too, beetroots pickled and pesto blended, caramelised spring onion dip created, all made to smother on crusty bread… nothing fancy, just fresh, home produce…

There’s a magic and mystery to the time of year as things grow and pull back, release and renew only to release again… it’s not always obvious unless you live as closely as we do to the land and the cycles. As I sit writing, there’s a scent drifting in the windows of earth, wet grass, roses, lavender and sage flowers… bees are busy; hens are wandering through the orchard and we have a respite for a few hours from the rumbling thunder and accompanying wind and rain, still heard in the distance.

Still, I’ve managed to plant more lettuce and marigolds, harvest onion, coriander and parsnip seeds for another cycle of growing… meanwhile, David has put together another hencoop for the new girls when they come on to lay.

Nothing much going on here 😀

Early this morning there was a mizzly-drizzle, covering everything and reducing visibility to zero but it steamed off leaving the exquisite scent behind of oak moss.

We often have four seasons in one day!

ENDLESS DREAMS

In the mists of time
where all made sense of the rhyme
there are sounds that stream
like an endless dream
…passing in notes sublime
Who were they who walked the Old Way
to where did they stray
when they left that day
You can hear them still
put your ear to the hill
…you’ll hear the wild music they play
Rhythms grow
the trees dance and blow
in an unseen wind off the heath
Drums rumble
summoning from beneath
The earth splits wide
pouring out the Fae ride
…their songs they do bequeath
Walk softly, they sing
let joy your notes bring
to a world that is cold
…a world grown old
Let go your fears
treasure passing years
…let go, no need to cling
Joy will return,
Bellies fed, passions burn
as their music slowly returns
Let your feet tap and glide
while their gentle notes slide
Fill to the brim
…your soul that yearns

Wild, my environment… and the closer I grow in understanding and awareness through its changing face…

…with warm wishes and blessings for the holiday season and beyond,

Penny