Not sure exactly why, but this year, the fig tree is going wild. Usually, the birds and squirrels take about three bites out of every fig and leave me, like, two figs. This year, I may have enough to bring some inside to ripen just for me. I'm happy to share, but I do wish they'd leave some for me.
My chipmunk was a wild woman this morning, dashing here and there and up over the herb bed and behind the grass and under the coleus and in between the helibore. I warned her, "Look out. You know that cat, Smudge, from across the street, is looking for you. If I can see you, you know that Smudge can see you."
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 . . . ."