Writer, dreamer and mother. Learning from my four children, reading, writing, growing and cooking in Devon. Blogging about the daily chaos.
The land is warm with the echoes of voices,
The voices of the midwives, the healers, the wise.
The women who lived their connection to the landscape,
Shared it as a gift and passed their knowledge down.
The voices of their neighbours, who thanked them for their service,
Who brought them gifts of food and sought protection there.
The same voices denounced them, when fear was stirred against them,
The burnings and the hangings and the drownings came then.
The land cries out for healers, for the hands of the wise women,
And we must heed our ancestors and learn their craft again.
We must embrace our passion and look beyond our fears,
Our burning time is over but the world is burning now.
Take the water no-one carried to quench the flames that licked us,
And soothe the world and heal it; we will rise again.
Bring back the wild dancing, hear the moonlight singing,
Build the bridge to wildness and let our voices ring.
Voices © Claire Arnold 2020
My roots are in this land.
I dig and plant and weed and breathe.
The energy of the earth flows through me.
I hear those who came before me,
The wise women who walked this path,
Gathering herbs, mixing berries.
I learn about the medicines and feasts the land provides.
I know the land I live on and I know myself.
Coming home to this place in the universe,
I am part of the unfolding of the earth.
I plant seeds with my children, teach them to water and weed.
Their roots are in this land.
Roots © Claire Arnold 2018