Once more following the blue grief of the evening Down the hill, to the springtime ﬁshpond— As if the shadows of those dead for a long time were hovering above, The shadows of church dignitaries, of noble ladies— Their ﬂowers bloom so soon, the earnest violets In the earth at evening, and the clear water washes From the blue spring. The oaks turn green In such a ghostly way over the forgotten footsteps of the dead The golden clouds over the ﬁshpond.
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 . . . ."