Everything is in constant flux. Not only in the seasonal shift, but in the whole vibratory force of a changing world. Already we hurtle towards Samhain and the dark half of the year commences. The veil thins and as consciousness reveals, everything we think about or imagine, becomes real somewhere so therefore, if we can balance how we see the world, not letting destructive forces rule, we can allow consciousness to shift, elegantly. It takes more than just prayers and dreams. Action is needed. We need to know who we truly are and by this I mean not to impress or to say, ‘look at me,’ despite challenges from others who may be uncomfortable with your being other than they imagined… change for many is confronting on many levels. This doesn’t mean you must dance to another’s way of seeing you.
The air is sweet, birds are everywhere – there’s a cormorant on the edge of the pond; wings outstretched, head back to catch each drop as rain turns to a fine mist, cleansing her of parasites and dust. She preens and grooms, flapping her great wings occasionally, sending droplets flying.
Earth is wakeful as the shift begins towards winter… I feel her tremble in the unusual warmth of a new day, when the sun shines warm on both our skins and tiny wildflowers burst open under the canopy of, gold and amber leaves on sycamore, elder, oak and birch. Winds whisper secrets to the flitting Weebills catching sleepy insects. Seasonal dried grasses rustle as small creatures pass. Branches lift their heavy limbs, their fragile, drying leaves cupped toward a duck-egg blue, sky waiting to accept the rain.
There is movement on my peripheral… nothing of this world as the Wildlings stir… shifting shape like pellucid mist and then solidifying, to be seen… twig limbed… green wings rasping, against woody skin. Imaginings… I’ll let you be the judge of that, but then you don’t see through these eyes…
Wild Spirits dwell
in the most unlikely places
They may surprise you
with their presence
in the everyday
as much as
in the quiet places
of your mind.
You can find
the wildness
of childhood innocence
by finding
the magical awareness
lost to so many
hidden within
our mundane lives
but this doesn’t mean
they’ve disappeared for good.
Look into the cracks
and crevices of tree bark
of rough textured stone
in the wild fragrance
of a fleeting, musky perfume
sent on the wind
Find them
in the wild places
of your heart.
Wild Spirits
are waiting
for you to notice them
to remember them
and in so doing
they may well help you
to reconnect
…to the Soul of Earth
Autumn harvest is waning and winter crops are slowly maturing. It’s wonderful to sit in a cool room, windows open to the breeze as I write. It’s nearly time for greenhouse clean-ups, bringing in the last green tomatoes to ripen slowly in a warm room or to hang upside down in the greenhouse to finish the process, keeping their roots moist. Once the beds are cleared the oncoming crops are covered to protect them, for when the hens are let in to do the job of digging, running pest control and manuring the beds.
In the wild and on the farm, rosehips, hawthorn, rowan, crabapple, blackberries, beechnuts, hazelnuts and chestnuts are ready to wildcraft. Tiny field mushrooms grow, cheek by jowl with their poisonous counterparts of fly agaric and puffball. Wild mullein, sorrel, selfheal, yarrow, tansy, fennel, garlic, cress, dandelion, plantain and such, along with my cultivated culinary and medicinal herbs, are ready to gather and hang for tinctures, balms, sachets and herbal infusions… garlic honey ferment and wine vinegar are also on the list.
Nature tugs at me now, guiding me to those hidden delicate herbs and berries. Paddocks are green and the dandelions have regrouped, flowering again in profusion. Everywhere holds the scent of water and wet earth. Little birds bathe in puddles and ponds… a kookaburra calls late, indicating rains to come. Storms have been spectacular and the bats came inside, chasing large moths and march flies that snuck in when the doors were open. This year has been rich in Aurora Australis activity; electrical storms caused wildfires and lightning brought a spectacular display of nature’s fireworks. A light show of raw power. Fire, flood and sunshine. A climate of extremes that my head and eyes can’t ever take in, but all my senses do.
Samhain always brings me into balance, even more than any equinox cycle… everything ebbs, flows, shifts and aligns creating a natural flux of seasonal change. Farmers battle to feed us through climate change and political upheaval and all need to learn to be responsible, at least in part, for their own food production, wherever possible. A huge movement is afoot that can teach these balanced ways of eventually, memory takes over through ancestral origins. 
Nature is the decider of any given seasonal crop and like everything, has its own struggles to combat. Death for any creature is inevitable including us and a disassociation with nature will mean in return she will have no association with you. Your garden fails if your out of balance with her rhythm, your house floods or burns because you haven’t made your motivations clear to her or perhaps are even aware yourself, that you are a part of the greater flow of her ways. All things come from nature, even the knowledge that created science, astronomy and space.
It smells heavenly as the rain storms impregnate the soil and the sticky heat releases the crude essential oils from the eucalypt in the surrounding forest …wild fennel adds an exotic pungency to the mix as lichens free their earthy moss fragrance along with their spores, to the air.
Everything lifts their faces skywards as the soothing, thirst quenching rains of autumn turn the paddocks green, wild dandelion nodding as they cast off their puff balls to be taken where they will…
…and I can see summer’s yield to autumn as hedgerows change their coats from green to amber and ripening blackberries lend a splash of rich, current colour to nature’s palette …the mornings are cool and tiny spiders are making their webs from grass stem to stem across the ground …droplets of shining rain cover each thread with silver and my thoughts begin to drift towards retreating into winter.
She’s changing her gown from green to gold
the harvest is ripening as the year grows old
Mabon’s first kiss was felt in the air
as elders ripen in hedgerows fair
What do you wish for your harvest this year
Have you laboured long for your fruits to appear
Let go the old growth, let the leaves fall
the fruits of you harvest will come when you call
With winter’s approach, I like to dive deep into the notion of communication with the ancestors… a slow evolving toward humanity that shows us we are connected, aware, a part of her. Our brains development has led us to hive off from the planet and perhaps in our arrogance as a species we have told ourselves we don’t need her, but when we use her the way we have, surely it’s no different to treating your oldest friend badly. We have the wisdom of science and the knowledge of technology but reconnecting to the planet, our roots and ancestry, seems to be abandoned by so many for the shiny tick-tock world of illusion. Her resources aren’t infinite, however… she is not a commodity and she is, as we are, made from the stuff of the stars… we are inseparable.
To be continued…
Walk softly… walk with the ancestors… Awen /|\
Photography, art and words, copyright Penny Reilly, all rights reserved
Penny Reilly Artist Beyond the Gate 