Recently, the women of my wonderful circle were discussing what information to best share with someone new to the ways of Wicca. All of the usual name were mentioned: Luisia Tesch, Starhawk, Shekinia Mountainwater, Z. Budaphest, Margot Adler, time spent observing a growing tree, T. Thorn Coyle, and on and on. I suggested that, trite as it may be, one could do worse than to read the Mists of Avalon by Bradley.
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 . . . ."