Today it is grey and dark, windy and raining.
But, for two days the River Witch took to the water. Skin smelling of river musk and golden sun and the lingering smoke of the night’s fire under the waning gibbous still in my hair, mixed with the green feral scent of an unguent for the River Spirits, ripe with river willow, fern seed, enchanter’s nightshade, poplar bud, moss, and well-rendered wild goose fat, among other things, all harvested last year from this big channel, and the riparian and tributaries that run with it. And, the spirits came, wearing the physical guises of Deer, Beaver, Eagle, Goose, Heron, Duck, and Turtle. I muttered spells over odd amulets, collected fresh willow branches, horsetail, waterleaf and nettles, and filled bottles of water from below a tree, its base submerged in the flood waters, an eagle’s nest directly above, to refresh and replenish the jars on my Water Altar. At the confluence of two rivers I twirled my Jupiter finger in the swirl of a whirlpool, like Cerridwen at her cauldron, and pulled the primordial force of this land’s blood up into my arm, and all throughout my body, replenishing my own vessel with the magic and power of the current. When my thoughts would turn dark, and the Black Arts threatened to muddy the Green Arts, I willed them away under the perfect blue of a cloudless day. The mind needs a reprieve from such intensity. Everywhere, the flooding blurred all the lines between riverbed and land and sky, and the familiar became strange and allowed me to get lost in the meandering curves of the river’s course. Such a balm to just close my eyes and float away.
And then, it was home to a meal of morels sauteed with young nettles, and venison steaks.