Land Remembers:: Bodies remember, roots remember, ancestors remember, animals remember. You remember, the scent, the light, the shape, the prickle tell at the back of your neck. You do.
Nine hazels grow by the well of wisdom. Nine worlds exist in a sacred tree. A well holds the wisdom of the Norns. The spiral turns on itself, overlaps and questions, expands and contracts in the timelessness of micro, macro. What it doesn't ask though is who are you to seek these stories. We ask that only of ourselves.
I wanted to write this eve of birthing mothers and consumptive celebration, of families and cross-pollenated symbolism. Instead I spent the day in a wood of old friends cultivated and wild, and send here their love and blessing, the ancient memory that unites us all.
The land remembers.
You are the land.
Wherever you are, in this and every night, the land remembers you.