The forest is the heartland of my soul and the grove is my holy temple, with ceiling of sky and floor of earth and walls of living wood, every aspect in a constant state of change -- the clouds above, the wind in the trees, growth and decay, night and day. At times it is all enclosed by the forest canopy, sunlight flickering through the leaves, and at times it is bare branches, silver and black in the frosty night, Yet it is always filled with certainty.
I'm a woman, a Witch, a mother, a grandmother, an eco-feminist, a gardener, a reader, a writer, and a priestess of the Great Mother Earth. Hecate appears in the
Homeric Ode to Demeter, which tells of Hades who caught Persophone
"up reluctant on his golden car and bare her away lamenting. . . . But no one, either of the deathless gods or of mortal men, heard her voice, nor yet the olive-trees bearing rich fruit: only tenderhearted Hecate, bright-coiffed, the daughter of Persaeus, heard the girl from her cave . . . ."