Bring me a rose in the wintertime, when it's hard to find, bring me a rose in the wintertime, I've got roses on my mind. A rose is sweet, most anytime and, yet, bring me a rose in the wintertime and how easy we forget.
Bring me a smile when I'm far from home, when it's hard to find, bring me a smile when I'm far from home, I've got smiling on my mind. A smile is sweet, most anytime and, yet, bring me a smile when I'm far from home and how easy we forget.
Bring me some peace when there's talk of war, when it's hard to find, bring me some peace when there's talk of war, I've got peace on my mind. Oh, peace is sweet, most anytime and yet, bring me some peace when there's talk of war and how easy we forget.
Today was a terrible day to be following the news. Our economy doing the one thing we all knew it would do, but hoped that it wouldn't, after decades of deregulation and greed. The McCain campaign going completely negative on Obama in the hopes that what worked for Bush and Rove will work again. The environment in a tailspin and every fifty-year-old I know walking around with the dazed look of one who really groks that she will NEVER be able to retire.
And so, here's a rose for you in the wintertime, a short list of things that give me hope:
Dinner w a dear old friend whose pursuit of her own v, v, v advanced degree a continent away from where she lived convinced me that I could, too, go to evening law school. We drank and ate and traded gossip and talked politics and discussed our children and grandchildren and just being at a table next to her gave me strength and made me feel better. May you have friends like her.
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 . . . ."