Fruition...

...can only come from nurturing and time. This is the case in all areas of life. When I returned home from my holiday I was delighted to find an array of treats waiting for me - all fruits borne from that special combination.

The first treat was found in my post-box...

...a package of surprises from the wonderfully generous Mother Moon.

What delights I found within!

A very dainty pair of earrings. These pretty, delicate ones are just my style.

A set of hand-decorated notecards - perfect for thank yous!

And last but by no means least, a fantastical card, with such a sweet message which went to the heart of how I feel about blogging. 

We are part of a community here and I am loving reaching out to meet like-minded people and hope to get to know you all better over the forthcoming months. These treats are a reminder that with nurture and time, friendships can grow. 

Many thanks and brightest blessings, Mother Moon. 

...

The second treat was a wonderful reward for a lot of patience and care over the past few months.

When I first moved in to my cottage, a year ago, a friend bought me a beautiful orchid as a house-warming gift. After several months in bloom, the flowers sadly began to drop one by one until I was left with an empty stem. This happens with all orchids, whose flowering life is limited.

However, I did not want to discard the plant. I had heard it is very rare that an orchid will flower again, but I did not want to give up. I cut the flowerless stem right down and moved the orchid to a shaded, cooler spot.

About five months later I noticed a new stem had appeared. A few weeks after that there were buds on it. I was delighted! And when I walked into my living room on Monday, this was what I saw...

The orchid has triumphed against the odds! Blessed are we with little rewards given for nurturing and having the patience to allow time to work its wonders. 

An Invitation...

...to you all to take a look at this wonderful wildlife documentary, about Bottlenose Dolphins resident off the coast of the British Isles, in Cardigan Bay.

Bay of the Bottlenose Dolphin from Katherine Dixon on Vimeo.

This film has been made by my lovely friend Kat, who I haven't seen in about a year (boo hoo!) because she has been working so hard. The result is this stunning footage, which has been captured as the final project for her MSc in Biological Photography and Imaging.

I'm so proud of her, as well as my friend Ryan, who has composed the beautiful score which accompanies the film. What I love most about the documentary is that it reminds the viewer of the complexity of the natural environments all around them, which we often take for granted, as well as offering the opportunity to witness some of our country's most magical creatures thriving. Let us hope it stays that way.

If you want to see more of Kat's outstanding wildlife photography, she can be found here, or keep up-to-date with her escapades as she roams around the country with her camera, by reading her blog. 

Chance

Looking at this picture now, it does not seem real. 

When I flicked through a day's worth of photographs taken around the farm on Saturday, I was not expecting the flight of the swarm of swallows, swooping in the sun, to have been captured. They are so fast, dive-bombing to catch flies and gnats in the air; it is a chance blessing that the shutter of my camera moved at the precise moment to capture this one mid-soar. 

Wandering curiously into one of the barns, camera in hand, I found the purpose for their frantic flight...

A nest tucked away under the eaves, containing hungry mouths to feed.

Entirely by chance did I choose this moment to explore, and I was blessed with this reward: the opportunity to capture a beautiful aspect of nature in action. 

Marvels

'Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished' - Lao Tzu

Once they hatch, dragonfly nymphs live for most of their lives on the bottom of rivers and ponds. This stage can last up to five years, with the nymph breathing through gills. When the larval dragonfly nymph is ready, it climbs up a reed or other water-dwelling plant and as soon as it reaches air, begins to breathe. 

The skin splits and the dragonfly emerges, stretching its wings and taking to the air, with the ability to propel itself in six directions - up, down, forwards, backwards and side to side - at speeds up to 30 miles per hour and spot movement from 40 feet away.

In the air, their wings refract and reflect light, enabling them to shine with an array of  luminescent colours. This wondrous creature symbolises the ability to see things from a different angle, embrace change and transformation and acknowledge the fact that life, like light, offers many illusions. 

Mother Nature at her most marvellous. 

Tingles

I am now covered in stings from nettles after walking through the knee-deep grass of our neighbouring field...

...and lying amongst the stems to stare at the sun-filled blue sky...

...and crouching down, not daring to stir, while trying to capture this wonderful sight...

...

Dock leaf in hand...and on arms...and legs...I don't care that my body is tingling with tiny white bumps... 

...because my soul is tingling too. 

Growth

Some of my Spring sown seeds (okay, bulbs) are already beginning to sprout!

A mere couple of weeks ago, I planted a variety of summer flowering bulbs in my big tub outside. As I had some left over, I put a few into small pots which are currently sitting on my kitchen windowsill.

These anemones must be feeling nourished by the cosiness of this little terracotta pot, because they have shot up proudly! Realising that you have nurtured life and growth has come from something you have planted is a real joy and privilege. I'm very excited to see the colourful flowers brightening my kitchen in a few more weeks.

Oh England, my Lionheart

Things I love about you...

Bee happy

Today I most certainly have been. After heavy rains over the past couple of days, this morning I awoke bright and early to glorious sunlight streaming through my window and the sound of birds chirping. As I have to be up super early during the week, I usually make the most of weekend lie-ins, but today I was up and about, making tea and breakfast, chatting with a friend who had come to visit, enjoying the warm light. 

Our idyllic morning continued as we rambled over the fields for a stroll in the sunshine and arrived at Lacock Abbey. Normally the National Trust charge for entry; however, today being the first day of Spring, they were having a free visiting day. Joy! As we entered the beautiful grounds, we were greeted by this wondrous sight...

A carpet of purple! The crocuses were in full glory, everywhere we looked.

This was almost too much for me. I was on my knees, taking pictures from every possible angle and imagining fae-folk peeping out from behind the flowers.

I thought of the prettily illustrated 'Flower Fairy' books I had as a child and understood exactly why Cicely Mary Barker would have felt inspired to create them. With the sunlight streaming through and shimmering off these delicate petals, spread like a sea beneath the trees, it felt just like a faerie glen. 

By the touch of the warm and welcome Sun,

Opened suddenly; Spring's begun!

Dance then, fairies, for joy and sing,

The song of the coming again of Spring

Sadly, I didn't spy any faeries today, but I did meet this little guy who was frantically going about his business amidst the purple blooms.

Folklore cites this flower's symbolic meaning as 'youthful gladness' and I think it's fair to say this Spring joy was felt by both busy bee and I today.

Looking out of my window

My seasonal obsession with snowdrops was surpassed this morning by the glimpse of lemon-yellow through my upstairs window. ‘Oh my goodness! Already?!’ I exclaimed, springing out of my chair and grabbing my camera. Convinced my eyes were tricking me – it must just be a piece of litter, I reasoned – it was not until I got close to the edge of the field that I believed what I thought I had seen.

Primroses.  Now don’t get me wrong; the snowdrop will always hold a special place in my heart. But these beauties filled me with glee. Their delicate petals were sprinkled with dew drops as I crouched alongside them in the morning sunshine; I could only hope my trusty macro lens would capture their fragility.

Around thirty shots later, I still wasn’t satisfied. It would seem no matter what angle I tried, I couldn’t quite do their beauty justice. No still image was enough to demonstrate this little wonder of nature. 

Joy

It may still be chilly and grey but boy is there change in the air. An abundance of life is flourishing around us –steadfastly weathering those pesky February frosts that threaten to quash it. But oh no, it will not be beaten. Like Persephone, battling her way back from the Underworld, these little signs of life are defiant: Spring is coming.

This week I have watched the little flock of sheep that inhabit a small enclosure at my school very closely – they have a definite glint in their eyes and a frolic in their step as they charge about. What a change from their huddled ‘scrum’ stance of a mere week ago! On the farmyard, the rooster has taken to crowing louder than ever and chasing the lady hens. 

Everywhere you look there are signs of flora and fauna coming out of hibernation.

The hedgerow is teeming with signs of new life. It is joyous to see so much green again.

And in my parents’ garden my favourite tree is beginning to reawaken, reminding us of the perpetual cycle of life and nature.

Even little Cleo got caught up in the air of spring liveliness, bounding around in a flurry of madness, chasing leaves and sticks.

Wonderful. 

Imbolc

It has been a funny old week. Change is afoot in my department at school, with new appointments being made and colleagues moving on. Unsettling as this may be, I have found myself taking a strange kind of reassurance from it; ironically it has reminded me that one thing we can be sure of is change itself.

At exactly this time last year, I took a giant leap towards changing my own life.  It was at the beginning of February that I applied for and was given my current job. Having begun planting and putting down the roots of my teacher training during the previous autumn, it was with the first signs of spring that I began to see the results and the pathway I was about to take began unravelling before me.

It comes as little surprise to me now that this time of year often brings new growth and development. As the seasons change, the light increases and the earth warms, we find ourselves waking up and taking our first steps towards the year’s goals.

It is this awakening that I celebrate at Imbolc – the midpoint between winter and spring. ‘Imbolc’ originates from the Celtic ‘Oimelc’ (‘ewe’s milk’); the festival which falls on February 1^st or 2^nd is so named because the life-giving flow of milk heralds the return of spring. This sabbat is in honour of Brigid, goddess of the hearth and bringer of fire to warm the frozen earth. 

Having no open fire in my cottage, this year I saw fit to create a symbolic hearth to which I could invite Brigid. This was a simple ritual, using materials I could gather from around the home and hedgerow.

Firstly, I chose the point in my home which I feel is its centre. The living area downstairs is actually the lowest point in the cottage and feels closest to the earth; this is where we naturally gravitate towards for comfort and relaxation.

I then filled the space with white candles, to represent the coming light. On a small table in the space, I placed a red pillar candle, which would represent the flames of fire and surrounded it with stones gathered over the years, to represent the hearth.

Now, I rarely cast a formal circle but as this was the first time I had called upon Brigid and the first time I had used this particular space for magick, I thought it would be appropriate. Previously I had used the wind vane in the farmyard to check my directions, however we have since discovered it is out of sync so my partner insists on checking North on his iPhone compass. Granted, this is not the most traditional method but it definitely comes under the heading of ‘practical magick’.

In spite of this preparation, however, my first attempt to cast a circle in a long while was not without its hiccups.  I really hope I’m not alone in being over the age of eight and still having to think hard about which is East and which is West. Not the best trait in a witch.  Having apologised to the elemental guardians and rearranged my incense and my water goblet, we could finally begin.

The ritual was a simple one; I asked Brigid to bless our home and hearth with her warmth and light and thanked her for the return of Spring. I then cast a small spell for a positive attitude and the creation of happy memories as the year unfolds. Finally, we gathered around our ‘hearth’ and ate a traditional Imbolc feast of roast lamb.

Later in the evening, long after it had gone dark, we used our hearth flame to light the candle of our lantern, which we took for a walk down to the nearby river. Placing an incense stick in the earth on the riverbank and with our lantern aglow, we had the four elements surrounding us once more. As cold as the night was, there was a warmth in that moment: one beautiful memory already created.

Catching my breath

It’s hard to believe that a mere week ago my wanderings offered views like this...

The past few days have been damp, grey and misty; a dull contrast to last week’s crisp white blanket. Thank goodness I have these photos to remind me that, for a short while, the world around me looked serene; perfectly quiet and still.

Although I often find winter hard and resisting the temptation to hibernate is a daily challenge, for those few snowy days I felt far happier. Perhaps it is because the whiteness tricks us into believing we are getting some of the light we miss during the dark months.

Perhaps it is because for a fleeting moment it feels like we have been given a clean slate.

I think what I enjoyed most was that it seemed as though the world had stopped. Cars weren’t driving down my lane; people weren’t rushing about; I could stand perfectly still and take the time to look around me. And what a beautiful sight that was.

Brightening my day today...

I consider myself fortunate to work as a teacher in a wonderful school which is surrounded by trees and greenery. One of the benefits  is being able to spot an array of wildlife from my classroom window. Today’s blessing came in the form of a cottontail bunny, resurfacing after the snow and frost, to spring about giddily once the children had left for the day. This put me in mind of a childhood favourite – Peter Rabbit – and brought back many happy memories of snuggling under the duvet with my edition of Beatrix Potter’s collected tales. 

‘I am sorry to say that Peter was not very well during the evening.   His mother put him to bed, and made some camomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter! 'One table-spoonful to be taken at bed-time.’

Very wise advice indeed!

I still have my copy of the tales, although it is now rather battered and worn. It remains tucked away, in the hopes that if I have children of my own, they too will enjoy its magic. 

When you wish upon a star...

...drop a coin into a wishing well, or blow out the candles on your birthday cake, have you ever considered carefully what you are doing and what it means?  These are sweet, superstitious practices for most, passed down from generation to generation and given an encouraging nudge by the film-makers at Disney: nothing more.

Sometimes there is genuine thought and desire behind a wish; often it is whimsical – a spur of the moment fancy. For me, it is the combination of thought and action (as with almost every aspect of life) which creates power. In practical terms, it is the intent with which something is done which provides its driving force.  If you take besom to hearth and create a sweeping motion, without intent to remove the dust, you will simply swirl it around the room; if you make a wish without clear intentions about the forthcoming outcome, it is unlikely you will recognise whether it has been achieved – or know that it is what you truly want.

In simple terms, a ‘spell’ is a form of wish: a desire for a particular outcome or change. What is beautiful and, paradoxically, often frightening about the concept is that what we desire is achievable simply by aligning our thoughts with our actions. It is within us. Whether you direct your intent towards a deity - or as I more often prefer to do, towards nature and the universe as a whole - the wish, spell, prayer is cast through visualisation of the hoped-for outcome amalgamated with the energy provided through an – often symbolic – action.

Dropping a coin into a well symbolises an offering to the universe; candles were historically put on cakes to symbolise the glowing of the moon – it was said that the smoke rising from them would carry a person’s prayers to the gods.  

As for me, I sent my wishes skyward this year by paper lantern, which carried my hopes into the universe gracefully. These intentions were coupled with the action of burying apples in a particular spot in my garden. In giving this offering back to the ground, I was visualising a symbollic outcome: my first snowdrop sighting. 

This symbol of hope represents the arrival of a much craved-for spring; life and light beginning to seep back into the darkness we currently find ourselves enveloped in. The next turn of the wheel. I never fail to feel joyous at the sight of that first fragile and most courageous of flowers, braving the February frosts. A beautiful metaphor for what the spirit can overcome.  

When I see these wondrous reminders raise their heads from a wintery slumber, at the spot where I buried my offerings and released my hopes to the sky, I will know my wishes have already begun to come true.