…winter came …but not on tiptoe…

018…saturation …water runs in rills unable to find even a dust mote to sink into, so wet is the ground …high winds …freezing rain and still no snow …hoar frosts have covered the ground every morning for the last week and it was an amazing sight to actually see it creep in under cover, deposited by the mist; then the sun broke through!

…winter came in suddenly with a ‘boots and all’ entry …no tiptoeing around this year. Harvest is done, all butKONICA MINOLTA DIGITAL CAMERA the greenhouse where the brassica reigns supreme …thank goodness, we need all the green

food we can get this year …at least the chookhens are laying and the potatoes don’t mind the rain! 6 new girls, rescued from the battery farms have settled in well after just a couple of weeks

…small robins and wrens have made there appearances and the Little Jacky Winters are back and they begin the nesting site battles again …some things never change!

…it’s the perfect time of year for me to write …sequestered away in my warm, cosy space, occasionally watching the birds or taking a stroll with the wildling terrier Pip but with just a few thousand words to go, Silver’s Threads Book 3, Warp and Weft will be birthed. Here’s a small preview for those who have been waiting patiently, (or not) …blessings …Penny

otterChapter 10: Arianwen

…she walks with grace upon the earth

…with faery horns and wings

…she listens to your every word …listen as she sings

…she sings to you of a planet green

…and food for all to share …tread gently

…for she’s watching, all who break the ‘oath of care’

Bethan remembered being a silver pelted otter, swimming in a deep lake; it was spring fed and the undertow at its heart was strong. It would pull her toward an underground channel and up through the watery depths, to emerge at a rocky opening in the mount known as Chalice Hill, from where she could see the Tor and the tower, built after the White Christ had brought his monks to these shores, with their temples of stone. Before that, the settlement on the Isle of Seers, visible occasionally across from the mount, nestled below hidden in mist. Now, after building their chapel it was forever concealed, lest Her secrets be lost.

            As her aspect Leah, she’d known the area intimately but there had been a part of her, long before she’d blended with any human aspects that had existed deep in the heart of the dreaming, long before humans lived to control invented time.

           In truth, she couldn’t remember ‘becoming’ Leah, she only recalled standing on a jetty looking out over a vast lake between four hills, where a coracle waited and a silver otter swam. She remembered the different perspectives she could quite consciously achieve between human, standing on the jetty looking at the otter and then the reverse, the otter looking at the human; it was always with the same eyes.

           Then there had been the moment when a beautiful young woman had given birth to a child of the earth and the waters and one had come to kill them both. Aithlin had saved the child and given her to grow with strong humankin who still believed in the Mother’s Magicks and, in turn, this one had come to the jetty and repeated the whole cycle again.

            She knew, as Arianwen, there was a piece of the puzzle missing. There was another, who killed and would kill again for revenge. How had this creature become so dark, and when?

            Now with the human aspects of Leah and Bethan merged together as one, Arianwen stepped from the rocky opening, water droplets raining from skin grown rosy with the cold, her silver hair turned a burnished red by the precious minerals in the pool.

            Sitting by the spring was a small creature; she cradled a Maker in her arms as it passed from this thread to another and she wept little tears like pearls that shattered on the rocks.

            ‘Twan’t me wot urt er, Arw’n, t’was …’ she couldn’t bring herself to say, fear making her little face appear old.

            The Leah aspect remembered this one and wept with her; Bethan stirred and knew what she was. Arianwen held her, speaking softly to her grief.

            ‘Magick feeds the land and land feeds our magicks,’ she sang. ‘Humankin have forgotten to believe and so our power diminishes, as too will the essence of the Mother. Soon they will wonder why their earth realm is suffering dire change and in turn so must they. Change or die; like us disappear into the threads beyond time. This realm will only be inhabited by those who appreciate their own powers of co-creation with the Mother and with us and who have the ability to project in all directions to restore the earth plane they believe is reality. It is only one among many but which will they chose as their truth, one with anger, revenge, regret and deceit or a planet where the light and the Mother’s Magicks return to empower the land again,’ and the tears of the small creature dried and the Maker was gone.

             She was otter, dragonfly, leaf sprite, bird; a tree, a breath of air; a droplet of water vapour, a tidal pool of emotion. She knew no differentiation between herself and all that is for she was, all that is.

Copyright Penny Reilly 2013 All Rights Reserved

Silver’s Threads …Book 2, Grey Weavings,  …Silver’s Threads Book 1, Spinning Colours Darkly

…available from http://earthlyrites.yolasite.com/

or in book and kindle versions from http://www.amazon.com/author/pennyreilly


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