Turned out a good day!
Now its time to fetch my Hobbits! :)
Monday, September 22, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Hawthorn And Other Worlds
One of my favourite trees has to be the Hawthorn. From its frothy may day abundant scented blossoms, to Autumns jewelled clusters of red berries. I love its familiarity in the landscape and all the superstition and myth that surround it.
The hawthorn was a holy tree in pagan and christian legend alike and many conflicting traditions have gathered around it. The crown of thorns is said to have been made from it. It is believed to hold healing powers and to protect any house nearby from lightening. It has a strong association with faerie lore, so never sit under one on special days such as May day, Midsummers eve or Halloween! One of my favourite connections to hawthorn, since a child, is the holy thorn of Glastonbury.
It is believed St Joseph of Arimathea came to Glastonbury and thrust his staff into the ground on Wearyall hill. It took root and grew and every year from then on blossomed at midnight on Christmas eve. It is said that the tree was destroyed in the seventeenth century by a puritan soldier, but not before many cuttings had been taken and planted elsewhere. One such daughter tree is in the grounds of Glastonbury abbey. It continues to bloom to this day although flowering now is more usually upon old Christmas eve (5th January)
A few years ago, on an icy January morning. I was lucky enough to see it in flower and feel the magic and mystery that surrounds it.
The hawthorn in my garden may not be a relative of the Glastonbury thorn, but it does have plentiful supply of berries to feed the birds through winter.
I have taken a while to settle back into my routine after my little break away. Autumn always makes me want to line my nest, prepare the house for winter nights, forage and squirrel. I have filled the freezer with bags of blackberries, surplus runner beans and sweetcorn. It was while on a blackberry picking expedition that I came home with treasure!
I rescued it from the long grass, a lovely piece of twisted ivy wood. The branch it used to wind itself around, had competely rotted away. I don't know where I shall put it yet. Its just propped up by my front door for the photo.
Finally I sat at my desk, sitting still, being transported to other worlds through a story.
I have been listening to an audio book. The magical 'I , Coriander' by Sally Gardener and whilst doing so, through the hawthorn branches a little white bird appeared.........
The hawthorn was a holy tree in pagan and christian legend alike and many conflicting traditions have gathered around it. The crown of thorns is said to have been made from it. It is believed to hold healing powers and to protect any house nearby from lightening. It has a strong association with faerie lore, so never sit under one on special days such as May day, Midsummers eve or Halloween! One of my favourite connections to hawthorn, since a child, is the holy thorn of Glastonbury.
It is believed St Joseph of Arimathea came to Glastonbury and thrust his staff into the ground on Wearyall hill. It took root and grew and every year from then on blossomed at midnight on Christmas eve. It is said that the tree was destroyed in the seventeenth century by a puritan soldier, but not before many cuttings had been taken and planted elsewhere. One such daughter tree is in the grounds of Glastonbury abbey. It continues to bloom to this day although flowering now is more usually upon old Christmas eve (5th January)
A few years ago, on an icy January morning. I was lucky enough to see it in flower and feel the magic and mystery that surrounds it.
The hawthorn in my garden may not be a relative of the Glastonbury thorn, but it does have plentiful supply of berries to feed the birds through winter.
I have taken a while to settle back into my routine after my little break away. Autumn always makes me want to line my nest, prepare the house for winter nights, forage and squirrel. I have filled the freezer with bags of blackberries, surplus runner beans and sweetcorn. It was while on a blackberry picking expedition that I came home with treasure!
I rescued it from the long grass, a lovely piece of twisted ivy wood. The branch it used to wind itself around, had competely rotted away. I don't know where I shall put it yet. Its just propped up by my front door for the photo.Finally I sat at my desk, sitting still, being transported to other worlds through a story.
I have been listening to an audio book. The magical 'I , Coriander' by Sally Gardener and whilst doing so, through the hawthorn branches a little white bird appeared.........
Saturday, September 6, 2008
Doors And Memories
I have always held a fascination with doors and doorways.
An entrance, a beginning, an ending, a close.
Locked doors with giant sized rusty keys, tiny doors with silver fairy keys, doors ajar, glimpses of light beneath. The secrets and expectations of whats behind them. Other worlds, a frosted moonlit garden, the milky way, a beaded veiled bedroom fit for a princess, a staircase, or maybe something more sinister. Doors feed my imagination.
I sometimes picture my own mind as an endless labyrinth of passages filled with doors of all shapes and sizes. The rooms or worlds behind them are filled with treasures of my memories.
Back home again and as the rain continues to endlessly fall, the island of Jersey has found a room of its own.
The floor is a carpet of fine white sand from Portelet bay, scattered with fairy sized shells from St Ouen's sand dunes.
An entrance, a beginning, an ending, a close.
Locked doors with giant sized rusty keys, tiny doors with silver fairy keys, doors ajar, glimpses of light beneath. The secrets and expectations of whats behind them. Other worlds, a frosted moonlit garden, the milky way, a beaded veiled bedroom fit for a princess, a staircase, or maybe something more sinister. Doors feed my imagination.
I sometimes picture my own mind as an endless labyrinth of passages filled with doors of all shapes and sizes. The rooms or worlds behind them are filled with treasures of my memories.
Back home again and as the rain continues to endlessly fall, the island of Jersey has found a room of its own.
The floor is a carpet of fine white sand from Portelet bay, scattered with fairy sized shells from St Ouen's sand dunes.
There are Jersey cows, a speckled seagull that we seemed sure was following us from place to place.
A fairy bluebird, Lemurs and lots of other amazing sadly endangered creatures we were lucky to be able to get so close to at Durrell Wildlife. The 50p mugs of Bovril on sale at Rozel bay, along with my daughters squeals of delight as she won £75 at the camp site bingo.
And most definitely echoes and images of war time German occupied Jersey, at the War Tunnels.
With memories safely stored, its time to move on and look forward to the new one's that Autumn will bring? Crackling bonfires, baked potatoes, toasted marshmallows?
I love Autumn!
A fairy bluebird, Lemurs and lots of other amazing sadly endangered creatures we were lucky to be able to get so close to at Durrell Wildlife. The 50p mugs of Bovril on sale at Rozel bay, along with my daughters squeals of delight as she won £75 at the camp site bingo.And most definitely echoes and images of war time German occupied Jersey, at the War Tunnels.
With memories safely stored, its time to move on and look forward to the new one's that Autumn will bring? Crackling bonfires, baked potatoes, toasted marshmallows?
I love Autumn!
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