May the stories of the old ones, the ancient ones, the land and the trees, the plants and the earth be whispered to you.
May you warm your toes by the hearth side as the land starts to speak in the cold and old icy voice of winter, the voice that appears when we pass the mid winter mark; the voice that talks in stories of growth, of becoming, of new slates and brand new mossy gateways.
May you be comforted by the fire that can be lit inside your body, by the light you hold inside, the light of love, forgiveness and passion.
Rest well dear one, warm your bones and listen in the silence, in the cold, for the rustling of truth telling that comes from the earth and the air, the rustling of the newness that springs from the compost of the old.
~ Brigit Anna McNeill
Shared with Love
Sacred Wild Woman Medicine
Artist~ Josephine Klerks