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I am a dancer of Edges & a Gatherer of Threads, cast to the Winds of Change. A weaver of words and yarn, I am happiest sitting near a burbling stove, hound at my feet, or walking hidden trackways.
We have always gathered under the Harvest Moon for years aplenty. Nestled here in Crow Valley,
We have laid tables with cloths of many colours.
Lit lanterns and kindled our Hearth Fire. We have set down bowls of hedgerow fruits sweetened with mead.
We have soups warmed with eastern spices and bread newly baked. Once there was a barn here for the Harvest Home. But ever a star studded sky and delicious company. And not once did we know for certain it was the last...
... The very last!
Or we would have laughed and danced longer, Beaten our drums and sung louder.
Next year,
will we sit in the shadow of a different barn?
And for whom will we set our Harvest Supper tables?
I have folded away our many coloured cloths with Verbena and Lavender blossom between each fold.
So that we will carry away sweet valley memories and the kindness
And good company of friends.
We Have Always Gathered under the Harvest Moon © RavenCrone 2016
Saxon Shoreline Sunset © RavenCrone 2013
Out of Sunsets
Such as these
Saxons rowed from Sheppy Isle
And landed here,
In this place.
Saxon Shoreline,
Beaches of smoothed flint
And marshland.
Home of Curlews, Wagtails and Tern.
In winter
Ice-kissed winds
That birthed in Russian Highlands
Blast this Landscape.
But for now
A Glory of a Sunset
One Midsummer's Eve.
Saxon Shoreline Sunset (one Midsummer Eve) © RavenCrone 2013
At Harvest time we gathered at Merripit Farm for a festival to honour Whitehorse Hill Woman. Amongst the many events to enjoy and participate in, were the Ancient Hands Workshops.
I was joined by a wonderful circle of women to teach Weaving using methods so old that a bonnet woven in STRANG Weaving has been found in a Bog Burial dated 3500BC.
We used Gypsy Spindles carved and smoothed, harvested from willows in the marsh.
We used lap looms, weaving sticks and a beautiful Dartmoor Floor Loom.
All crafted from wood, a transient material, all made from native trees.
But here is the magic: the deep remembering, as fingers wove wool and the soft tears that flowed in this reclaiming of Ancient skills.
The stories told and songs sung, as weft and warp twisted and flexed.
In these times of instant consumerism, where the tapping of a key can purchase, in a virtual store, so much undervalued clothing and accessories, we felt elation and wonder amongst those Weaving Circles. Skills were learnt that will last a lifetime, by men and women both, as they discovered the true value of crafting a unique and timeless item.
RivenStone Festival, Merripit, Autumn 2014
Ancient Hands © RavenCrone
Here,
Betwixt Sea and Shore
This place of mystery,
Both land and water.
Sunsets are lauded,
Viewed over mighty oceans.
But this place
Shrouded by silent Mist
Holds a mute beauty.
Not even the lap of gentle waves!
Instead, glass smooth waters
Creep up the estuary
And reclaim tidal sands.
As we take our leave,
The cry of a lone Tern
Bids us Farewell,
And we weave a careful path,
Trespassers both.
Not a word spoken to
Shatter this perfect Peace.
Tidal Lands © RavenCrone 2013
Saxon Shoreline Summer Solstice Eve © RavenCrone 2013
We gather around the fire
As each season spirals round.
We bring ale and honey cake
Prayer bundles and Blessings.
These are family of the Heart and Hearth.
Tied by our love for this Good Earth,
We have seen babes born, named,
All held and loved within our circles.
We have watched a dear Elder journeying into his Night Journey.
We have laughed, cried, danced and sung together.
We have shared food and drink
Listened to soul secrets, prayers and offerings.
We have watched as the trees planted to mark this Grove
Have grown, flourished, merging into this Woodland.
We gather around the fire
As each season spirals round.
We Gather © RavenCrone
Ancient Hands © RavenCrone
Tidal Lands © RavenCrone