I live with, now, two giant White Oaks (Quercus alba). They've been here since before America was America. They watched my little bungalow get erected a mere few decades ago. They feed the squirrels, harbor the birds, shade me and my neighbor, have roots that intertwine with mine every day when I do my spiritual practice. They're getting old. I do reiki on them. My neighbor and I pay an organic tree service to feed them. I water them even when I can't really afford to do so. White Oaks are amazing trees; every moment of every day they exude peace and stability and rectitude. How sad it is to lose one.
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 . . . ."