Scraps of the sacred, offerings of lichen, are shaken loose from the trees. From the birch to the snow, these precious prayers, that perfect shade of green. If I were a shop girl I would fashion my hat out of mycelium and colour it just that shade of green.
The lichens are stirred now by the north wind, rise and drift, settle amongst the cedar and dogwood for Hare to gather. She brings them to the winter-spirits and they are bundled and the spell is cast and the bundle is returned to the fire to thaw, releasing a fragrance that is old, one that flows into the imagination of ourselves, makes us believe that we are kind and merciful.
Hare and the spirits hold their breath, wishing it to be true.
Merry Christmas folks.
No posts
Comments
Nothing yet. Say the first thing.
Sign in to join the conversation.