It’s here, even though it’s hot. Autumn has come, on soft wings of golden light. The forest floor is scented with newly fallen and decaying leaves, the air has a tinge of the turning season. I adore this time, and I hope it’ll be a long one this year.
I type this as the sun sets on one of the last days of the year. The mist is rolling in, the sky changing from blue to yellow to pink. The pine trees stand tall, silhouetted against the fading light. A flock of pigeons fly across the thin crescent of the new moon. A hush is descending on the little village, and the candles are lit in my home.
Looking out the window at the hazy purple trees in the distance, their bare branches still in the evening light, I reflect upon the year that has just gone. My dreams have been strange of late, perhaps due to illness, perhaps due to the mental ruminations that winter and the closing of the year bring. I’m tired, physically and mentally. I’m just getting over a nasty cold, and my husband is currently fighting it. The cats are doing well. The family back in Canada are doing well, apart from one tiding of bad news and ill health. But we are strong, we will meet all challenges head-on, staying positive whilst being realistic. I thank my family heartily for teaching me these lessons. I am too easily blown by the wind, feeling it all. Their Dutch practicality is my steady anchor when the storms of emotion hit hard.
So too is this beautiful land where I live, and I give thanks to the trees and the sky, the sea and the heath, the deer and the owls that keep me company day and night. Even as I long for my familial home on a daily basis, this beauty right here, before my eyes in this very moment is what is real. This is what I must engage with, this is what I must feel; otherwise, I am simply a ghost in this landscape.
I am making friends with the muntjac deer who visit me every evening, expecting their peanuts. There are two males, Douglas and the smaller one, Jeffrey. Sometimes Doug’s partner comes with her two children, one a year old faun and one born late this summer. I do not yet know their names. Occasionally, Freya the fallow deer visits, her long legs moving her gracefully across the lawn, her carriage always like a queen. The wren sometimes sits on the picnic table when I am washing the dishes, giving me a wonderful look at his tiny body, so round and soft.
So what has this year brought? It’s been quite a calm and steady year. The first half was filled with the final work and then anticipation over the release of my new book, The Book of Hedge Druidry. Summer and early autumn was filled with promotional work, and hearing the reviews that were coming in. The Book of Hedge Druidry went to No. 1 in its category on Amazon many times over the last six months, for which I was overjoyed. I give my thanks to everyone who has taken the time to write to me personally, or leave a review. So many lovely, wonderful people from across the world have reached out, and it’s so nice to know that there is resonance with the words after you release them out into the world.
A crow flies across the deepening sky, followed by two airplanes high above, their contrails glowing pink before quickly disappearing in the high pressure. So many planes tonight, flying across the southern sky. More and more carbon, going into the air, with cheaper and cheaper flights. I worry for the future, I really do. Taking a deep breath, I ground and remind myself that I am doing all that I can, and to be here in the moment. I know that next summer I will be on a plane myself, for a very special family occasion. I cannot judge without being judgemental.
What other things have happened this year? Well, in late autumn, a creative burst came through in a completely different media than usual. Photography and video has inspired me these last few months, and it’s nice to take a break from the written word. Expressing myself in different mediums has widened my horizons, and made me realise that I am more than just Jo, the Druid.
Six airplanes in my small field of vision, as I look out across the back garden.
Douglas and Jeffrey have arrived, and are eating peanuts.
My cats are sleeping at my feet, happy and content.
My husband is downstairs, watching the hilarious soapbox races on the television.
It is safe to say that my world has grounded itself in reality of late. The dreaming druid is still there, but she is sitting side by side with many others. She is sharing a table with many aspects of my soul, and there is food enough for all to share. The call of my ancestors is still strong, and my heart hearkens to a heathen past while my head remains firmly in the present.
Other things that have happened: I’ve revamped my website and this blog, and opened up an Instagram account. My Youtube channel is going strong. I also have a Patreon page, where people can support me in the work that I do, for whichever medium I creatively express myself in, day in and day out. I am so grateful that I have the opportunity to do so, because for so long my life was filled with simply trying to survive. There were so many ideas in my head that had to be held back because I needed to make a living first and foremost. These last five years have really shifted that way of being, and I am eternally grateful. It feels like I’m opening up, that more and more creativity is coming, in various forms. I have music planned, and art. In the new year, there will be a place on my website where you can order prints of my photography. There is much to come, by the grace of the gods and my own will.
The room is darkening considerably, and I will have to stop writing soon, for the glare will become too strong for my eyes in the candlelit room. I shall take a moment to sit with the candles, and meditate upon what has gone, what currently is, and what may come. I shall be grateful for every moment, every taste that life has to offer, in every spectrum. There may be trouble ahead, there may be smooth sailing. We cannot know for certain, but we can steer the course of lives as best we can. As the peachy sky fades into grey, then indigo and then black, I know that the stars will shine tonight, at least for a little while. And after that? Who can say? I only know that I am thankful for my many blessings.
To everyone who has followed this blog over the year, and some over many years, to everyone who has yet to come into my life, to everyone who has supported me and my work, I give you my heartfelt thanks. I could not have done it without you. There is a relationship right here, though it is often silent, and hidden. But it is here, between you and I, right here in this moment as you read these words. And I honour you for this moment, this shared moment.
May the coming year bring you peace and happiness in the best of times, and strength and courage in the worst. May we all stand shoulder to shoulder, to work with each other to make this world a better place. May we all walk in beauty.
Love, Jo. x
This time of year, the frosty mornings give us such a beautiful display of light and shadow, of magic and mystery. And the fact that the sun doesn’t rise until 8am right now means you can have a relatively decent lie-in on a Saturday morning, and still get out pre-dawn for some great shots 🙂
The freshness in the air, the silence and most of all, the solitude is just wonderful. It’s as if you are the only person in the world, and are completely at one with all nature.
The hard ground underfoot, which is usually so soft (it’s all sand on the heath) makes a nice change. It’s different, and though we don’t get much snow here so close to the sea, you can feel it still underfoot, and hear it whispering in the early morning’s light: the Song of Winter.
It’s there in the beams of sunlight that play through the branches and dance in the clouds. It’s there in your soul, waiting to be heard.
And so we stop, and take a moment to listen to our own hearts.
And we know that a world of wonder awaits us, if we just open our eyes to see the beauty that lies all around us.
And we carry that memory with us, though the road be long, though the nights are dark, though the shadows creep in.
Here is where we find ourselves, in the stillness of the year. When the fields lie fallow, and the birdsong is muted, we take a moment to hear our own souls.
And we know that we are truly blessed.
If you’ve enjoyed this post, please do consider becoming a Patron on my Patreon Page. I’m hoping to get better camera equipment for photography and video next year, and hopefully a drone that will enable me to get beautiful overheads of the North Sea Coast and the heathland where I live. I’m already dreaming of the photos and videos that I can put together with this! x