ᛗᚤ ᛋᚨᚲᚱᛖᛞ ᛋᛈᚨᚲᛖ
Wanted to share my visit to this sacred place.
There was no beach, the tide was so high and the wind so strong that the harbor looked like the open ocean. It was exhilarating. I found my old spruce tree friend and had a good long hug. The witches hair was so magical, blowing in the wind in all its florescent green glory. I harvested a bag full for dying wool and a few barnacle covered shells left by the eagles on the trail. I never take anything that isn’t offered, it’s my way of being respectful.
It was cold, really cold, but after I walked for a while I was able to remove my hood and gloves, and the rain held off for the entire time I was there. I arrived just as someone was leaving, and didn’t see another human until I got back to my car. I just knew in my gut this morning that I needed to go here, and I just threw some clothes on and left straight away. If I had waited 10 more minutes, I would not have had the healing, solitary experience I was blessed with. It was my time, and I’m saying thank you to the spirits by sharing it with you. Just maybe it will help someone else feel what I did, if only just a little bit.
Peace dear ones … and if you can, get outside today, this time of year it’s so hard to make ourselves do it, but it’s so, so necessary

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Hand Stitching

ᛋᛖᚹᛁᚾᚷ ᛒᚤ ᚺᚨᚾᛞ
Sometimes when I’m quiet and turn my mind inward magic happens.
Hand stitching without a pattern can evoke powerful memories, and unlike writing, there’s no delete or backspace key to edit and moderate emotions. It’s pure raw feelings.
This particular piece, a red tree above a swirling orb, is being born just tonight.
This memory, this story, is painful you see.
I’ve tried writing about it many times but never felt like I’d been able to describe it with words.
I wasn’t able to merge them with its essence.
I pricked my finger on the first stitch and seeing the tiny drop of blood 🩸that formed on my fingertip changed everything.
I frantically dug through my fabric basket for crimson and found just one slender scrap.
Then to my button jar.
Then to my box of 4×4 photos.
I knew exactly which one I needed, a castoff blurry image of a 🌲 bough with a💧teardrop suspended on its evergreen finger tip.
And this is how it begins.


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ᚷᚺᛟᛋᛏ ᛏᛟᚹᚾ
I read that this place is a ghost town. There are no buildings left, but there wouldn’t be as anything made of wood, if not tended, doesn’t last long in this part of the world. There are cedar fence posts and non native shrubs, the kind people use to plant in their yards, struggling to remain upright beneath the wild native scrub. Now I understand why this place feels so alive, why I hear whispers in the wind, why the ground vibrates with secrets buried under the tall unruly grasses.
I am even more drawn to it now.und vibrates with secrets buried under the tall unruly grasses.
I am even more drawn to it now.
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ᛏᚺᛖ ᛖᛞᚷᛖ

On the edge.
Of reason.
Of discovery.
Of disaster.
Edges are tricky places.
They are a good place to see things clearly from, perhaps giving a few seconds warning before an impending change, and if they are steep enough, offer us protection from any danger below.
But edges can also fall away.
And take you with them.
So you live with the perpetual anticipation of movement and are ready to jump ship at the drop of a hat.
Either way, there is no place to hide, and so you practice having faith and trust.
You put down roots and carve out a life that isn’t defined by fear. A life that celebrates hope and joy. Even when something gets too close and is lost.


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He worked with purpose

As we stumbled over the loose round rocks

On the sliver of shoreline

I sat on the riprap and looked north to the island


The tide rising

A tug boat a little to the east

Anchored at the mouth of the harbor

A blood red dot against the blue horizon

Gulls treaded air above us

Some perched on drift logs

All quiet, all watching, anticipating our next move

He placed the last stone and backed away

It stood

It was time to leave

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Finally, I can feel the sap rising again. The waning winter moon time is so tough on my spirit. I know it’s just lack of sunlight and fresh veggies, but damn it’s rough and It’s been almost impossible to keep my mojo up.

Now it’s time to prepare the beds in preparation for the sewing.

And I mean, the literal SEWING 🧵 for actual beds 🛏 as well as 👚👖👗👙🧥🧦🧣

I’m off to make new things out of old and see if my resolution to stop buying mass produced; clothing sourced from nefarious origins; constructed with the blood sweat and tears of women and children; out of ecologically destructive materials; all in the name of the greed of mega corporations; irregardless of the human and planetary cost can begin.

I know. A radical platform. One of many I rally from.

Wishing us ALL peace and freedom from tyranny.

I don’t need to name names, we all know who they are.


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She thought she was done with it all

This time, it took her by surprise

Nothing ever stays the same she thought

I can’t hold onto things that were never mine

She turned the hourglass and watched the slow trickle

Down, like snow, like water, like blood, like tears

Then put her hands over her eyes

When she uncovered them she knew what she had to do

Rooted as she was, her branches covered in witches hair

She would release the old ones and let them fall away

She would send out new branches, green and pliant and eager

And send all of her heart energy to their budding vibrating fingertips

The sun was calling, her sap was rising to meet it

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