Blessed Be: A Witch's View of the English Countryside
A magical walk through the English Hampshire Countryside as told by a local White Witch and Healer.
August: A Walk Through a Year in the English Countryside
August, the month of holidays and harvest, a time to sit back, rest and relax and enjoy the fruits of our labours. A time for friends and families to be together, to re-connect, a time to laugh and play and enjoy each other and all that we have. A time for quiet contemplation and thankfulness. Something moves in my garden pond and a frog appears to rest upon a lily pad, his throat pulsing like a beating heart, such is the rhythm of life.
Butterflies, bees and dragonflies hover and flutter between the flowers, drinking deeply from the funnels of nectar laden petals. I watch this spectacle unfold before me, an interwoven symphony of dance and psychedelic colour, there for the taking and a pure joy to behold.
I stroll across the field toward the village green to join in the festivities of a summer fete and am joined by a squirrel, who bobs happily alongside me. All of a sudden, he darts off to the left heading for a cluster of heavily laden hazelnut trees. I stop and watch for a while as he carefully inspects each bright green feathery pocket holding the juicy, plump, young hazelnut he so longs to devour.
I look around me and notice how the tiny pink faces of blackberry blossom and elegant tall spires of bright yellow agrimony light up the dappled shade. Arching branches of the buddleia bush, dripping with their purple fingers as if pointing the way – the way to where I wonder ?
I arrive at the green where multi-coloured bunting adorns each stall, flapping lazily in the gentle breeze as if inviting you to come closer and stare upon its wares. Home - made treats of jams, pickles, chutneys and cake, oh, those wonderful cakes. Full of naughtiness, I cannot resist their temptation and load my basket with these guilty secrets, my mouth watering at the mere thought of just how good they will taste.
Shrieks of laughter fill the air as another ball strikes the button and the ducking stool releases some poor soul into the cool clear waters of the tank beneath them. So different to how it really was.
I hear the ‘click’ of ball upon a willow bat, the cricket match has begun. Men in their whites, so definitive, playing the game as if in slow motion and I decide to sit a while and watch. Refreshments are set upon a nearby table displaying the plates of cucumber sandwiches, Victoria sponge and jugs of traditional lemonade. An old urn bubbles and hisses as it boils and a lady in a crisp floral linen dress turns the tap releasing the water into a china tea pot. I watch as she stirs the tea three times, replaces the lid and covers the pot with a cosy, citrus notes of bergamot waft my way, ah, yes, of course, Earl Grey.
I close my eyes, hear the umpire call ‘Out’ and the slow rhythmic ripple of applause leads me into a gentle slumber.
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All illustrations © 2014 sarahNet Ltd
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