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The Cottage April/Beltane 2002
From the Hedge


Tbe Merry Month of May
Flowers, Herbs, and the Faeries of May
Beltane Ritual
The Crones Kitchen
The Crones Garden
The Crones Crafts
Dyad Moon
Herb of the Month
Monthly Deity
Monthly Gemstone
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From the Hedge
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A Dual Life

Out into the night cooled quiet I come,

Tiptoeing slow past the soft rub of cats

And talking to noisy, busy birds as they

Call the tune. A silk whisker away from

The milky grey sky as the aging tired

Moon wanes her long way back to bed.

Weary from her nights work well done

She passes the baton early and retires.

I wave briefly back to the deeply naked

Trees as dewy washing kisses the wind

With the crunch of cotton, newly clean.

Paws silent on the ground, I stand and

Wait in the spacious air with the plants

Stretching out laughing leaves towards

The gentle caress of breath, mine and

Theirs. I give as they take and then we

Swap our roles. Hard noise comes now

With the men who must. Pulled from

Their burrows before the time is ready

And into ice cold cars they tumble with

Barely a blind kiss or fast taste of mint.

Too quick to life given and willingly laid

They focus their magic back on families

Warm in the old country, travelling far

In search of an empty crock of ghostly

Gold. I watch them hurry to their flesh-

Hungry jobs and fade back and through

The mist into my own blood-warm nest.

Ninety turns of bustle pass quickly and

I sit on cold metal, waiting now for the

Sharp, careering bullet that carries me

To my work. I look inside and watch the

Yellow fingers of warm light silky stroke

Smoothly over concrete, stone, metal,

Wood and leaf. He begins his own light

Days work. Mine arrives late, too early.

Flashes of other, different worlds charge

Past my window as wound clouds chase

And hunt, crouched down low behind the

Horizon or sallying on wind filled billows.

So short is my longing way to work with

No time to think, no time and even less

Space to stretch the muscles of my mind.

Much too soon we slow, I am here again.

The cold transformation spreads its ice,

Turning me from nature child to efficient

Office machine. I gulp a last dewy-sweet

Breath as I am drowned by the other life.


Copyright 2002 MoonSongstress

Inside the Mind of a Trainee Familiar

I do so want to trust you, but something wont let me.

Its the memories. Memories pinned to my mind with

Iron nails hammered hard home with the monstrous

Force of ignorance and burning ice of her self-hatred.

It wont go away, you see. My lithe, glossy body, full

Of strength and sleek energy healed quickly with all

The speed of vital youth. But my mind, oh! my mind,

The wounds bite deep there and worms twist inside.

It wasnt just me, you know. All the weaker ones had

The same treatment. Care and caresses, then instant

Flipping of a switch to spiteful rage and quick violence.

Lashing out with heavy, steel hand or hardwood foot.

I came to her with an open heart and she etched it

With my pain and acid fear. I knew no other carer but

She poisoned the soft, clear pool of my trust with her

Cruel hitting, stroking, slapping, nuzzling, punching.

And then she left me. Out in the cold of the night with

No bed, fire, food or water. The relief was quick and

The long shock hit me as her last blow. She was gone.

Never again, I said. And then you came and found me.

Innocent with plans for my playing you came to take

Me. Gentle hands and the warmth of safe, quiet space.

Peace and plenty, hopeful love waiting for my return.

I do so want to trust you, but something wont let me.


Copyright MoonSongstress 2002