It's not objectively true, but it does seem to me that winter is so much longer than summer. How can we be only weeks away from Litha, when the day and night are even and then, we begin, again, the mad descent into the dark, night growing long and day growing short? This morning, when the rain began around 4:00, I got up and put my nose in the window and smelled it: that earthy, rain smell that is missing here from December through mid April. As I curled back up under the covers in the deliberately-chilled room, I was praying: don't go away. Don't go away too soon, earthy smell.
This afternoon, driving home from work after finishing my pro bono hours, I went past the lovely Potomac River. For the entire length, the scents of honeysuckle and mown grass were like an overwhelming drug and there was low mist on the river and weak light breaking through the grey rain clouds that have turned everything so intensely green that you can't imagine it.
One of the greatest joys of my life is to live near the banks of this lovely river. This weekend, in the mountains, I was near its source and wished it love as both it and I ran, on different courses, back down to the floodplain.
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 . . . ."