My old body lets me know, these days, in no uncertain terms, when I didn't get enough sleep the night before. (Of course, Dear Body, if you didn't insist on waking up at the same time, regardless of when we got to sleep, and refusing, as you never did in my younger days, to go back to sleep, it would help. Just saying.) But there was no way, with last night's almost-full Moon simply pouring and gushing magical energy all over my garden, my cottage, my body, that I could get to sleep last night.
It was as if there were gentle electricity running through and charging everything. It was too much to ground and, besides, even the deep soil here was so full of Moon magic that it could only accept a tiny bit more. There was so much magic-of-this-place going on, that it was all I could do to watch in wonder and not get carried away into the Hill of Fairy, from which one returns, thinking one's been away a day or two, only to find that years have passed.
You can't, at least I can't, spend decades communing with that mysterious, glowing orb and not be affected when She's near the peak of her power. And my body may protest in the morning, but I wouldn't give up these nights of being bathed in energy, magic, and love for anything.
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 . . . ."