STAUNIN STANES Thir are those Wha seek meanin In the alignment O staunin stanes. Wha line up The stars an mune An track the shaddies Imprintit by the sun. Thir are ithers Wha accept a mystery Fir whit it is, Beyon an answer, Perhaps it is eneuch To staun an look Within these places. The stanes become Question merks Embedded in The deep pages O the lanscape. Sumtimes, wi can Dig too deep, An tapple too Mony unknowns. This is space eneuch Tae leave alane, Tae wunner an dream, As wi search Fir yon lane stane We ken is oot there, But is alwise Jist oot o reach. Derek Ross
Winter his settled
oan the wood,
the wood his settled
hauns are stilled,
an noo the trees
lettin the leaves
cover the scars
o anither year.
A wee visit to my favourite boatyard. Just love the textures to be found there!
Jerhico Loch Small waves crackle along the loch edge. Small waves, but deep enough to douse all those doubts that simmer. We are calm, our eyes warmed by the flicker of sun on water, and there!, the flash of a dragonfly. Who knew? The loch could hold so many stars, Who knew? we could glimpse the spark between grass tip and air.
Shadowland Light hides amongst the trees, drawing us in to seek it out. We step though a shadowland, watching the world, flicker…flicker. Then, there it is, bright and clear. a glint in the eye, a sparkle. We have found our way again, The light was there all the time.
Some recent successes. Don’t normally like to post this sort of thing but , hey, chuffed when folks like what I do. 86 awards since I started submitting pics. 🤗
The Blacksmith Shadows chase across the faces of my children. The forge is lit, flames spit to the bellows breath. Buried in the fire, metal melts, soon I shall fashion another sword for Urien. My wife cradles our youngest life, she is troubled but hides it well. Like her mother, she has the gift of far-sight, claims to see visions being played out in the dancing flames. I have no time for such notions! I have a King to arm, children to feed! My hammer falls, pounds at my growing fear. Yesterday, she looked into the forge and saw only fire!
The Fisherman’s Wife Pity the fisherman’s wife who grieves by Merin Rheged. The sea has devoured her life, a husband and three sons drowned by a storm that feasted a full four days. Now, even the gulls mourn, and the waves weep upon the broken shore. See, how she picks her way through the bleached bones of driftwood. Eyes ever seaward, hair streaming like seaweed at the tide’s turn. What can we offer her? Only the warmth of our eyes, our quiet pity. Wrapped in her pride, she walks the edge, wearing her tears like jewels. (Merin Rheged = Solway Firth)
The Wise Woman They call me the wise woman of the wood, That I hold the secrets of the ancients. I belong to no cult or sisterhood, I just see the forest for what it is. Many here are jealous of what I know, The same people who call me pagan! Yet, they still come to me with their woes, Faith in their God is easily shaken! Some Rosemary, perhaps, to chase nightmares? Saint James Wort to ease your bruises and banes? Chamomile to soften a headache? A touch of Hemlock to dull a pain? Tonight, I’ll face south at sunset, and while The world sleeps, I’ll gather in … and smile.
(Herbs picked whilst facing south at midnight, were thought to be more potent. An interesting concept!)
Urien In his longhouse in Caer Ligualid, A figure stands by a smouldering hearth. This is Urien, Son of Cynfarch Oer Son of Meirchian Gul Son of Cenain Son of Coel Hen King of Rheged. He is staring at the rising sparks, Imagining figures forming in the smoke. There is his lady, Morgan de Fay. His sons, Owain Rhiwallon Elfin Rhin Pasgen. Urien looks up, Watching his family drift Up to the dark roof timbers, And wonders if this Is what we all become, Nothing but spirit and ashes, A flickering of memory. He fingers the cross Around his neck. His eyes seek the ravens On the shield by the door. He walks towards the light, Crosses over the threshold, And steps into his world. (Caer Ligualid = Carlisle)