Spade up some grass. Fill a couple of pots. Head over to a community plot, or just create one on some unused land in your ’hood. It’s not too late
Lady, I love you.
Picture: Tarragon from my new herb bed.
1 comment:
Anonymous
said...
Long before I knew that I was a witch, I knew that I just couldn't live without daily communing with growing plants. The magick of putting a seed in the soil and loving it and being rewarded with bounty and beauty - color, fragrance, flavor, sustenance - is a spiritual high that's hard to beat. And a pantry full of put-up produce makes it a lot easier to resist the insecurity and fear that corporate America likes to instill to keep us compliant.
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 . . . ."
1 comment:
Long before I knew that I was a witch, I knew that I just couldn't live without daily communing with growing plants. The magick of putting a seed in the soil and loving it and being rewarded with bounty and beauty - color, fragrance, flavor, sustenance - is a spiritual high that's hard to beat.
And a pantry full of put-up produce makes it a lot easier to resist the insecurity and fear that corporate America likes to instill to keep us compliant.
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