The wheel turns again… Beltane is passed… the veil is thin but the Fae are probably wrapped in blankets by the fireside, rather than cavorting in the green countryside… and this Wild Spirit is in complete agreement! Hawthorn, here at the farm, is only just budding, whereas in other regions it’s already in full bloom. Did I pick the coldest place to live?
My Grandmother used to say… “No Hawthorn blooming by Beltane day… don’t put the winter-woolies away… I’m listening, and I guess it’s not yet Beltane!
One would think, beyond a cloud of colour and scent, spring would almost be over and summer making her debut… all things being equal. Not so… the weather Gods are elongating a wintry-spring and bringing fresh snow. Now, where do I live again? Sometimes, I have to remind myself it’s Australia, albeit the colder region, and yet, it never fails to amaze me just how European our weather trends are.
We can move from this…
…in a matter of moments.
Life is slow in the garden… usually by now I’d have tomatoes, capsicum, basil and coriander, planted alongside all the luscious greens, carrots and spring onions, already producing. Not this year, even in the greenhouse the soil temp is only 12 degrees. That said, rhubarb is rampant and I’m cutting flower heads off every day to stop it bolting to seed. Dandelion and sorrel are ripe for the taking in the fields.
Everything shifts and changes and so we must adapt… throw out the comfort of norms… embrace a new way of seeing… being in the world. Life can be a spontaneous joy, when nature’s signs are acknowledged… nothing is more delightful than the surprise of snow in November, in Australia.
Lightening storms and howling winds show us in truth, whose sway we are under. Flash floods, rushing streams and birds from other regions, appear to enjoy the lush green of this cold climate landscape.
Purists cry, there should be no exotics in the wild, but which species are surviving the extreme weather of the last years? None other than… oak, elder, hawthorn, blackthorn, rowan, holly, mistletoe, beech, elm, silver birch, ash, plane, sycamore, blackberry, raspberry, blueberry, crabapple, quince, apple and pear, cherry, plum and cold climate pomegranate are all adapted and grow wild in this part of the Southern Hemisphere… along with all the flowering bulbs you would expect to see in an English spring and all are doing better than many indigenous species.
Yarrow, tansy, chicory, cornflower, zinnia, buttercup, self-heal, lungwort, garlic, fennel, mullein, poppies… to name but a few, grow wild, cheek by jowl with native orchids, violets and native herbs, under ancient eucalypt and wattle… not once have I heard them complain about foreigners, refugees, interloper or feral… all things being equal…
That’s not to say I don’t adore the native species… quite the opposite but they seem to fit together well and I’ve yet to see the average Australian, living on nothing but Bush Tucker!
Life murmerings are felt below ground longer than usual now… late-blooming yes, yet, daphne flowered from mid winter until just a week ago… adaption and survival is the secret to life. Letting go the confines of the prescribed, aforementioned norms, holds an exquisite Magick for this Wild Spirit, who lives beyond the gate…
I might disappear into these hollow hills…
Follow the Magick to the hidden realms
Dance with the Fae beneath the elms
Refuse to be normal
in this world that overwhelms
…the heart… until it stills
I might follow the music on winds that sing
Watch enchantments fly, on silvern wing
Overwhelmed by my senses
…not by word-born sting
I might disappear into these hollow hills
…and so, I’ll walk the fields in layered clothes. Observe a high-flying eagle take a young heron out of the sky. Look into the gaping red maw of an abandoned raven chick… feel the eyes of a fox watching me, watching her… and witness a hare dance with his shadow in the long, lush grass.
Seasons come and go… things bloom and pass away, when they’re ready… all things being equal.