Mabon Quilt

Quilt for the Autumn Equinox / Mabon.

Here is my quilt for Mabon, or the Autumn Equinox. This quilt is about harvest, not just in its ripe fruit colours but in the fabrics themselves, for which I think I counted 19 in total. Some are from previous quilting projects, such as the three tree series I made, giving a nice link to the harvest of tree fruits (apples and plums in particular). Several squares were cut from scraps leftover from dressmaking, some of them clothes I made for M which are now too small for her but also one of mine which I still wear. And finally the music fabric, leftover from a ‘baby quilt’ and saved for quite a long time because these small pieces were all that was left. It represents another joy in my life right now, to play with the morris dancing group. Again, nothing has been bought new. So to look at this quilt brings happy memories. (To me, it is all the more remarkable because the difficulties I had actually sewing it were beyond anything I have done recently, as since August I have been suffering from a very sore hip and leg and at times can barely sit or stand. Sewing was done in very short bursts, left-footed. But that is a story for another time.)

Since both equinoxes are all about balance, I have also been testing an urban myth that has been puzzling me since I discovered it last Spring. There is a much repeated story on the internet that it is possible to balance an egg on its end at the equinox. I tried this, and failed. Then I read it was at the moment of equinox. I have no idea if the Earth is acutely aware of the moment of equinox or not, as with the moment of solstices. There is however a moment when the tides turn, which are of course affected by sun and moon so I didn’t just dismiss it out of hand. So since I missed the right time last time, and it was quite a convenient time this time, I thought I would have a go in the spirit of scientific enquiry. This time I also invited company.

What we proved is: some people can balance eggs. Duck eggs, chicken eggs, they will apparently all stand on their ends for as long as is required of them. The equinox makes no difference to those capable of balancing an egg, as the trick was quite happily repeated the next day. I, however, am still incapable of balancing an egg on a smooth, hard surface, no matter what time of day. Although I can have fairly good results if I use a non-flat surface…

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Fleeting Beauty

I enjoy the changing of the seasons, and with each season its special flowers. I have very few evergreen plants in my garden, even flowering types, because I find them stiff and dull for so much of the year – with never that promise of a fine show when it is their turn. Roses are great for flowering from June to November, but even they would be too familiar if they didn’t take a break from time to time between each flush of new flowers. However, there is one flower which the books don’t tell you about, which I am finding is testing my patience in the opposite direction: the waterlily.

Until digging the pond last year, I had little experience of any water plants, and relied on best advice from the books I found. It has mostly been a wonderful journey of discovery and excitement, with a whole range of different shaped leaves and flowers and some interesting growth habits, and I enjoy discovering which wildlife can be found on which plants. Most have grown well, and flowered well, except for the waterlily. Last year it produced a few leaves and one flower bud, which as far as I could tell, sat sticking just out of the water for days and days, then fell over and died. I was disappointed, but as a new water gardener, not too worried as I thought it just hadn’t established yet and the weather conditions were wrong and the balance in the pond hadn’t quite sorted itself out yet. After all, not all peony buds make flowers if the weather is wrong, but there are always enough giant blooms to give a good show for a few weeks.

Waterlily 4, barely open

This year I have therefore been pleased to see a succession of buds come to the surface on my waterlily, approximately one a week. This is the fourth in the photograph. You will however see it is only half open. And there lies the problem. After spending well over a week as a bud, the waterlily finally decides it is time for the flower to open. If it is a warm sunny day, the flower opens up like the pictures in the book and looks beautiful. Truly stunning. I saw one. But if the weather is miserable and cloudy, or worse actually raining, then it half opens for two days, like this, before giving up and falling over sideways for a few days before disappearing back into the depths. I really wanted to take some pictures of a beautiful open flower; I didn’t realise that first one was going to be the only one to fully open!

Waterlily 5, mostly open

Luckily for my peace of mind, flower number five followed just a day later and did finally get three-quarters of the way open briefly this afternoon. Even more luckily I was here to photograph it at the right moment. Normally it is earlier or later in the day that I am outside, not 3pm on a week day.

The waterlily is not, of course, the only flower to spend most of its life half-open, and only open fully when the sun is shining. Tulips do this all the time. Some even look quite odd on a sunny day, with their petals wide; they were clearly bred for a Northern European climate. The little species tulips that grow naturally further south look great opened out, because the interest is on the inside of their petals, but most hybrids are bred to look good and be photographed half closed. But my fluted tulips often last 5 weeks for each flower, and even the fussy ones and the species last 2-3 weeks, with sometimes more than one flower per stem. Tulips would never have become a garden classic if they lasted a mere day or two!

Daylily

Daylilies (Hemerocallis) illustrate the other side of the picture – they do just last a day. But then they get out of the way so as not to spoil the show for tomorrow’s flower. My plants may be more leaf than flower, but there are always several flowers to be seen each day in the summer.

In Lisa Beskow’s ‘The Flowers’ Festival‘ the Rose and the Waterlily are both queens of equal rank; all the other flowers are below them. But while the rose presides over the festival, the waterlily is fussy and does not leave the water. Everyone else comes: other water flowers such as reeds, rushes, Miss Calla, Yellow Flag and the yellow water lily; even the hothouse flowers like the Miss Pelargoniums, Mrs Myrtle and the grand Lady Fuchsia, once their fears about cold have been allayed. Says it all really!

I think I have a choice. I can enjoy the challenge of growing something so fussy, doing my best to contact its Deva and find out what it wants and then struggle to meet its needs in my windswept Derbyshire garden, or when I next rearrange plants in the pond, I can reconsider whether it is happy here. And yet I can’t help but feel disappointed. If it was something really rare, I would be proud of my occasional flowers. Instead it is like a Camellia plant I removed a year ago because every year it was full of promise, covered with buds, and then every year it got frost on it at some point so the flowers went brown and I would have to go round pulling them off because I hate the sight of a plant smothered in dead flowers. I replaced it with Camellia ‘Debbie’, which has been far more successful – the flower shape is slightly unusual with larger petals around the outside and smaller in the centre, so the centre never gets frosted because it is protected. And when each flower is finished it falls off by itself. Add to that it is a stunning rich pink.

Meanwhile I planted another rose last month, completely the wrong time for rose planting, just because I found a gap in a flower border and it looked pretty. (I also had a voucher to use up at the garden centre near the school M has just left and it was my favourite of everything they had in stock.) I’m glad to say it seems very happy and has sent out new leaves.

Froggatt Edge Stone Circle

Finally. The first circle in my quest to visit, meditate at, and photograph all the stone circles in Derbyshire…

Froggatt Edge Circle

A first view of Froggatt Edge Stone Circle as approached from Curbar.

Froggatt Edge circle, also known as the Stoke Flat circle, is one I must have unknowingly walked past twenty years ago, yet never saw on the ground. Only a short way off the path, it is easily missed even in Winter unless you were deliberately looking for it. In Summer bracken would surround it and make it harder to spot. In my defence, at that time the circles I was most familiar with were Stonehenge and Avebury in Wiltshire, and possibly Castlerigg in Cumbria. I had no idea that such small, indistinct circles even existed. So when looking at options for a family walk, with requests for some rocks to climb and somewhere not too wet after a week of rain, I was keen to return to the area and see if there was anything there.

My former ignorance is fortunately not shared by others, and besides photographs and maps for most Derbyshire circles being available online, there is also an excellent book ‘Stone Circles of the Peak: A Search For Natural Harmony’ by John Barnatt, published 1978 with detailed drawings and alignments of each circle he surveyed. However, I made a decision not to research this circle in any way beforehand, reckoning that I should be able to find it with some fairly simple navigation from the map, so that I could have my own impressions uncoloured by others. I have instead used the information available to fill in the gaps afterwards.

Tall Rock

Tall rock by entrance.
(Click to enlarge)

The circle is actually quite large in the area it covers, approximately 18m across, but there is only one stone above waist height and a few knee high ones remaining. There is however a slightly raised bank forming the ring, so that the stones that remain do look and feel as if they are indeed part of a circle. Unusually the stones are on both sides of the raised ring, suggesting to me that either they have been moved at some point in the past, or it once had a double ring of stones, inside and out. (John Barnatt suggests the latter, in common with Ewden Beck / Broomhead circle some 12 miles further North into Yorkshire. But see also below.)

I took a few photographs as I approached the circle, then I put the camera away and entered by the tall stone as that felt like the ‘way in’. It had a deep hollow in its top, filled with water. After feeling my way to being at home in the circle, I then chose a rock to sit on – in this case a ‘smiling’ rock called to me and proved incredibly comfortable, the perfect height, size and flatness for sitting. I felt very welcome, and even loved as I sat there.

Smiley Rock at Froggatt Edge Stone Circle

Smiley Rock at Froggatt Edge Stone Circle, showing stones on the opposite side of the ring in the background.
(Click to enlarge)

The first thing that struck me was how peaceful it was. There were strong gales blowing that day, making walking difficult at times, but being just slightly back from the Edge the circle was almost windless. It also seemed undisturbed by the popular path running almost alongside; the only other people I saw take any notice of the circle that day were with someone who, judging by conversation, had recently done an archaeological survey of the area and wanted to show it to them. Everyone else simply walked on by.

Sometimes sitting on the edge of a circle makes me feel slightly uncomfortable, being aware of the boundary energy-wise. I didn’t feel that here – possibly because the boundary was further out, at the outer edge of the bank – but neither did I feel so energised that I couldn’t stay for very long within the circle as I have felt elsewhere. Instead I had a real sense of the circle as as a stable and complete form and me as part of that. This is a rare true circle, not egg-shaped as is common, and I could really feel that as a stillness and strength. (According to John Barnatt’s plan and geometry, I was also sitting along the side of a square within the circle; the entrance being through the point of the square. A perfect square would likely increase the solidity and stability of a circle form.)

Although the circle did not feel particularly powerful when I visited, as if the new moon was its weak time, I felt strong within myself by sitting there and feeling its energies. Like I could achieve anything I wanted to. A feeling of empowerment. That was something I carried with me for several days afterwards.

Two days later I was able to do a journey back to the circle. I wanted to ask if there was anything I had missed, or should have done, whilst there.

Water offering

Water offering

The first seemed frustratingly obvious in retrospect – I should have taken some of the gift of water at the entrance that was there for me! I find it hard now to believe that I didn’t and am really puzzled by why I didn’t, but it serves as a reminder for next time. Recognise and accept gifts offered, and connect with all four elements when there is an opportunity to do so.

Beyond that, I’m glad to say I learned new information. I discovered that the circle was anchored through all worlds on Earth, and is a place where it is possible to move easily between the worlds, and the worlds come together. By this I am including lower and middle worlds, and worlds of the fae (another lower world but, to me, in a different place than that of animals). I didn’t specifically explore any world of ancestors (I haven’t tried that before) but I did have a strong sense that the circle was built by and used by people. More specifically, I seemed to see two rings of stones, with the inner ring being used to sit on as I had done, and the centre of the circle for dancing. This is different to Stanton Nine Ladies circle, where I have sensed any ‘audience’ would stay outside the circle while not taking part, whereas here some, or even all if only a small group was present, would be inside. I had an impression of the circle belonging to a family or clan or tribe who loved and looked after the circle. They lived some distance away on the moor where there was water, not by the river although they could see it and used it for a trading or travelling route. It was safer up on the moor.

Within the circle itself, I sensed that an energy vortex could form at the centre when at its peak time, that is when the sun or moon was fuller, and also dancing was used to raise the energy. I couldn’t get any idea of how this energy was used however – beyond it being slightly different to an experience I had regarding Wet Withens circle a couple of years ago. (Saved for when I revisit.) Clearly each circle type, and possibly each circle, has its own distinctive character.

Alignments made by John Barnatt show that the circle has been built to line up with the midsummer full moon over Arbor Low and midwinter full moon at Win Hill – a very distinctive, pointy hilltop which rises abruptly out of flattish moorland. While his sunset positions seem a bit non-specific to the horizons, he then points out that when sitting the midwinter sunset is in the centre of the tallest stone. Additionally, Imbolc / Samhain sunset is at the stone next to this, and midsummer sunset one further along. It is possible that missing stones once marked the other key sunsets through the year.

Froggatt Edge Stone Circle.

Froggatt Edge Stone Circle looking towards the Edge and the footpath. Sunset stones on the side nearest the trees.


Update
As the project continues, and I find out more information, it grows… Within the boundaries of Derbyshire, I am now aware of:
5 possible Henge sites, all on ‘White Peak’ or Limestone, of which only Arbor Low has any stones and is sufficiently intact to see the whole ring.
33 probable stone circle sites, all on ‘Dark Peak’ or Gritstone – of which 23 are known to have stones remaining.
4 sites which may be stone circles but are more likely ring or kerbed cairns – 1 of which has stones.
9-10 destroyed circle sites. (Debateable if the village of Ringstones had a stone circle, but it seems to be generally assumed that there was one once. Nine other circles have been recorded at some point since 1800, but are now lost.)
3 modern circles.
And a lot of confused grid references, or multiple names for the same circles… I can see why a GPS might come in handy!

Sunflowers

Yellow Sunflower

Yellow Sunflower

There is a patch of garden, next to the pond we created in Spring, that is going to be subject to quite a bit of earth moving. I didn’t want to fill it with perennial plants and shrubs that would establish themselves just at the point I needed to move them, nor did I want to leave it bare. So I decided to plant annuals there.

Not all that I planted has thrived, and not all the seeds have turned into plants. It is too shady, too dry, and too many plant predators were made homeless just before I created the bed – but there is one plant that has grown better than any previous attempts of mine: Sunflowers. Standing taller than almost anything around them, they haven’t needed staking or care and have produced several flowers each.

As we approach the festival of Lughnasadh (or Lammas if you prefer), it is always this colour that is in my mind. The hot sun, the ripening barley in the fields, summer holidays. They bring smiles to my face, reaching for the sky, as they flower for weeks. They are strong, bending in the wind, yet flexible enough to follow the sun in its path every day. Several religious or spiritual groups around the world have used sunflowers as a symbol for both reaching for the light and being or bringing light.

I will be leaving the flowerheads to ripen for the birds and look forward to seeing how long they last. Along with the teasels and the various tree berries (hawthorn, rowan) they should create a natural storecupboard for a few months to come.

Sunflowers on one stem

Sunflowers on one stem

Equinox Daffodils

Apparently the Equinox, last Sunday, was the first day of Spring. This year with hawthorn coming into leaf in January, and daffodils even earlier, Spring seemed to come before winter. Then we finally had some snow, some frost, and nature seemed to sort itself back into the proper order of doing things. So now we can properly enjoy Spring – and the sunshine that filled the Equinox from start to finish.

Wild Daffodils

Wild Daffodils


I spent the day outside, which included a walk in some woods where wild daffodils grow. Narcissus pseudonarcissus is not generally reported as being in Derbyshire – the Lake District, Yorkshire, Gloucestershire, and South Wales being its usual haunts, but there is a small area of woodland north of Derby, surrounding the remains of a castle (the stone was plundered for building Kedleston Hall), where it grows in abundance. Only around 6-7” high, they make small delicate clumps and do not make the sort of show that we think of from daffodils growing en masse; it is certainly not an unmissable haze of colour, like the bluebells will produce nearby in another month or so! But their delicacy makes them special, as does the fact they only fully open in warm sunshine.

Daffodils are poisonous; they were used to induce vomiting, eating a tiny amount (if mistaken for onion) can kill, sap can cause dermatitis, and even regular handling of the bulbs with bare hands can cause similar problems. I have read that the Romans introduced them to Britain as they carried a bulb in their pocket to use as a suicide pill. However more recent research has revealed treatments for Alzheimer’s Disease, for Leukemia, and for Depression.

It is said to be a flower of the dead and the underworld, after Persephone was distracted by daffodils and Hades abducted her. They are often planted on graves, and can be used for death and rebirth ceremony or magic. As a symbol of new life and regeneration the daffodil is remarkable for its ability to return each Spring no matter how hard the winter has been; it is one of the few bulbs that will thrive almost anywhere, on every council roundabout and roadside verge, unlike fussier types like tulips. Alternatively the ancient Greek may refer to the Asphodel – which would be an equally good choice in ceremony, but rather less good as a hardy garden survivor.

Daffodils are, however, associated with Narcissus who pined and died for the love of his own reflection; its cup is said to be full of his tears. To some the daffodil therefore represents vanity and unrequited love. This ‘narcissism’ can be turned into a positive where more self-love is needed: its strong yellow colour and sunny attitude will help strengthen the solar plexus chakra which holds our sense of self and personal power, while the green stem and leaves link it to the heart chakra, that of love.

Wild daffodils like sunlight, and mostly they grow in fields, by hedgerows, or in coppiced woodland. The woodland I know is mostly young, but the bulbs still grow in their greatest profusion on the south-facing slopes on the edge of the woodland. I will have to see how well they survive in the absence of further coppicing. Meanwhile they remain, for me, one of the surest signs of Spring.

Wild Daffodils growing in once-coppiced woodland

Wild Daffodils growing in once-coppiced woodland

Sour Grapes?

I read some interesting comments this week, talking about the way fruit and vegetables are treated:

“By spraying poisonous chemicals on our fields and gardens, we killed the micro-organisms and bacteria that provided the glue that held the soil together in its crumb formation. … Once the micro-organisms and bacteria had been killed, their work – which was to excrete humic acids that would break down mineral elements into nutrient forms the plants could use – did not take place! … Plants grown in poor, dying or dead soil were not healthy enough to withstand cold, heat, periods without rain, or the normal range of pests, fungi, and viruses that lived in any soil. … The dead and collapsed soil we insisted on trying to grow foods in was just not capable of producing either healthy plants or healthy foods. Since insects and fungus were nature’s garbage collectors, her way of cleaning up sick, diseased, or dysfunctional plants and removing them from the landscape because they were not fit for consumption, our continued use of poisonous sprays to protect worthless crops was nothing less than ridiculous, ignorant, and doomed. … Fruits, vegetables and grains that grew from dead soil were almost as dead as the dirt they came from. Even when they looked beautiful they lacked basic levels of proteins, sugars and minerals. Worse, they contained chemical residues and other poisons. Healthy, normal amounts of protein in vegetables and fruits had to be at least 25 percent to support human life. Foods grown in these depleted soils of these United States had been at 3 percent or less for at least thirty-five years.”
Penny Kelly, The Elves of Lily Hill Farm

And that is just proteins. Huge numbers of trace minerals are missing from these crops, leached out of the soil that hasn’t been taken care of, and further unbalanced by using NPK fertilisers with many of the essential trace elements missing. The effects of waxing or preserving fruits for storage, then gassing to ripen them only adds to the chemical imbalance.

Fundamentally for me was this statement:

“Most of us were paying for cheap, poisoned foods grown in depleted soils and still complaining that it cost too much to eat. No one realized that what was saved at the grocery store was being spent at the hospital.”
Penny Kelly, The Elves of Lily Hill Farm

As someone who has had major health issues in the past, this struck a chord within me. I don’t like buying overly processed food, or non-organic vegetables or fruit that may have been flown half way around the world, but sometimes I still do. I can make many excuses, like alternatives not being available, or being significantly more expensive, or that I have requests for particular things that are only available from sunnier climates, but ultimately I still have to take responsibility for the choices I make. I would like to do better, one day…

And then I ate a grape. Just one, but before any other food instead of after as I normally do. It made me feel queasy. It gave me an instant headache, something I don’t suffer from. Sure the grape taste was in there, but what else?

So I have realised I cannot carry on down the path I am on any longer. Ideally I would grow more fruit and veg, but my garden is small and the area given over to edibles is smaller still, not sufficient to grow everything we want. Neither am I a very successful vegetable grower, yet! But change has to start somewhere, and for me it is now. So I am writing down my intentions to grow better fruit and vegetables and to seek out organic and biodynamic locally grown alternatives, because what I write here has a good way of coming true.

Merry Yule!

Lino print Holly Man

Lino print Holly Man

Greetings to all my readers. May this holly man bring you good cheer in these dark winter days, as we greet the return of the sun!

Some consider the Holly King to be the ruler of winter, while the Oak King rules the summer – although the exact date when each is supposed to be killed and give way to the other seems to vary through almost every season of the year depending on the source used.

In Roman times holly was used to honour Saturn, the God of Agriculture, celebrated at Saturnalia on 25th December. This has led to suggestions that the name Holly is related to Holy, and has a connection with the crown of thorns used at Easter in the Christian calendar. Since the holly man is often depicted in red with white beard an hair, and a sprig of holly tucked away somewhere, it has been suggested that he is a model for Santa Claus, via a connection with Odin.

To me Holly is a plant of winter, the shiny leaves reflecting light, while red berries are the colour of a low sun in the sky. Both the leaves and the berries are eaten by animals and birds in winter, but not summer when other food sources are more plentiful.

This is of course a lino print – it is my first use of colour, and I have a bit of learning still to do! The green was done in one piece, then the red berries were done as a trio mounted on a short dowel and treated as a stamp. Next year I must start earlier to allow for drying time…

Timelessness

Cathedral Oak, also known as Millennial Oak, in Savernake Forest, Wiltshire. Girth almost 10m at 1m above ground.

Cathedral Oak, also known as Millennial Oak, in Savernake Forest, Wiltshire. Girth almost 10m at 1m above ground.

Last week I was on holiday in Wiltshire, enjoying some Spring sunshine and frosty nights, and revisiting some very old trees and even older stones. To be in the presence of living beings that are ancient is, for me, to experience a sense of timelessness and peace. To know that I am part of something almost greater than I can conceive, and that I am transient in physical form, with a far shorter life expectancy than this tree. And yet I am also part of everything, connected to the tree and the rocks, and therefore timeless.

I was reminded particularly of how our ancestors thought a solstice sunrise or sunset was sufficient excuse to build a huge monument out of stone in order to enhance their celebrations. At Avebury, as at Stonehenge, there is an avenue leading up to the stone circles and I could feel a sense of excitement as I rounded the summit to see my destination. How, I wondered, did we manage to complicate our life so far that we stopped celebrating the stations of the sun? Why do we look for more in everything, instead of realising fully what already Is? And how can I get back to this in my own life?

I have read of the pleasure elementals take in simply being at one with the manifestation of their element, be it fire, water, wind or rock. For them it becomes an ecstatic experience. For example, to take the experience of a Gnome:

Musar feels that the fault lines and mountains talk to him and answer his questions about their origins. He perceives the history of a mountain, its internal stresses, its erosion patterns, and the forces that have shaped it and that will wear it down. Musar can dip his finger into a subterranean stream and instantly identify the minerals present, their concentration, and the sources of the stream. He senses forests and the evolution of trees and plants and how they affect the earth. … He can sit watching the stars moving through the sky from dust to dawn and feel that no more than a moment of time has gone. He can gaze into past ages and epochs of time and not feel in the least old or weary. For Musar, everything that has shape, form, and weight is fascinating and full of wonder.
Unlike a mountain or a plateau, Musar never grows old. He is constantly full of enthusiasm. For Musar, there is no need to hurry; there is no need to worry – each moment is satisfying, and each moment is a treasure of the heart. The silence in which he dwells is a magic well from which he sips and drinks the beauty of the earth.
(Mermaids, Sylphs, Gnomes & Salamanders, William R. Mistele)

I have read of Machaelle Small Wright’s experiences at the solstices and equinoxes, where there is magic in the exact moment of the sun’s transition.

March 20 [1984]
Spring equinox: 5:25 A.M.
I set my alarm for 5:10 and prepared for the equinox. At the moment of the equinox, I felt a strong wave of energy wash through me, and I saw the garden at Perelandra take a shift.

June 21 [1984]
The Summer solstice: 1:02 A.M.
… At 1.02 I felt the Annex fill with energy and saw it light up. I received an invitation to come join nature in the new Annex, to join their party. When I entered the Annex, I could feel the celebration all around. Then a nature spirit – a faun – stood before me and allowed himself to become visible to my naked eye. I hardly knew what to say, except “Hello” and “I love you.” I made clear eye contact with this lovely faun for the longest time. It was a special and extraordinary moment, I remained in the Annex for about an hour, feeling the movement and celebration going on around and within me.
(Dancing in the Shadows of the Moon, Machaelle Small Wright)

So I spent some time simply communing with the stones at Avebury, and seeing the delight in each one. All unique, individual, characterful, with their own story to tell. Yes they were once part of something much greater as many stones are now missing, our ancestors having knocked over and even destroyed many stones through fear, but the original layout can still be sensed through the landscape. One day we may collectively regain the understanding and connections that humans had with the Earth, at which point it, or similar structures may be reborn in a new form. For now, it represents where we are – which is probably better than where we were even a few decades ago.

For me personally I feel a parallel in that I started as a child with every possibility open to me, free of doubts, then science and logic and often fear took over. Finally I started to find my way again, connecting to my intuitive nature and the Spirit within. I feel I am still incomplete, for there is so much I don’t know yet feel I should be able to understand on some level, but I am now starting to find the building blocks of reconnecting. Much like the stone circle at Avebury, where some stones have been restored to their original positions.

'Munching Mouth' stone at Avebury, Wiltshire

‘Munching Mouth’ stone at Avebury, Wiltshire

An Eclipsed Equinox

This weekend marks Ostara, the time of the Spring Equinox when all comes into balance for a very brief period before tipping over into Summer. Night and Day, cold and warm, closed and open, hibernating and active. And of course the Ostara hare lays its cosmic eggs and fertility is everywhere. I often feel it as a pivotal moment between Winter and Spring – even though Spring might have started at Imbolc, with occasional glimpses earlier, now is the time when I can think about sewing seeds in the garden.

However this year was totally different, with a solar eclipse on the same day. It was as if the Earth anticipated the event, with the birds falling silent before the Moon even moved in front of the Sun. First a small bite, as the Moon moved between us and the Sun, forcing the Sun to follow the Moon’s usual path. I watched as the Sun waned from its full state not to Gibbous but more like a cookie with a bite out of it. Then the more familiar crescent shape, which diminished to a very thin line. Then as the Moon continued to pass above the Sun the crescent became a hammock, then a smile. Beautiful. Finally as the Moon moved off, the Sun waxed to its normal full state again. An entire cycle of death and regrowth in under two hours. I watched first through a welding mask while the skies were clear, then as the clouds thickened, there was sufficient filtering to watch it through plain glass – which felt more special as I was no longer cut off from it. The clouds gradually became so dense as to be almost opaque so I was unable to see the final moments, but by then the power had been released. Normal life resumed, except that the day felt charged, brighter, less ordinary than before. And definitely less balanced!

So instead of a gentle balancing and breathing out as energies begin their rising back out of the earth, I felt a tremendous burst of potential released as the Sun and Moon came into line and their individual powers combined to produce something greater than the sum of the parts. It was exciting, and I was full of plans for the day, the month, the year, the future.

Ostara was celebrated on Saturday, when ‘normal service resumed’ and the birds were back at the feeder again. But for me, there was another difference – that may have been crystallised by the eclipse – which relates to a post I wrote four weeks ago on Finding the Excitement. Because the next day I was completely unable to lie in bed listening to the radio or reading a book while waiting for M to wake up and want her morning feed, before we both joined the day in our usual slow way.

I have been a slow riser all my life … and existing on six hours sleep because M is hungry and wakes up every two or three hours means I generally take as long in the mornings as I can get away with. But since my previous post I have continued to approach each day with excitement and wonder about what it may hold. When I think how up until four years ago I was in and out of hospital, with no energy, drugs in my arms, unenthusiastic to get out of bed ever, I’m just amazed at how my life has turned around. And if I can do it, anyone can. One small step at a time.