the maiden the mother the crone

finding serendiipitii

the deepest waters run the stillest in their depths
she learned their language at an early age
tossed through waves, bathed in tides
the sun treated her kindly, tickled her skin
freckles doting on her like a grandmother
she entrusted her being to the way of life
and when she spread her arms into the grass
they gave bountifully, singing with her

what you give out will always come back
and she gave with fervor, her love strong
her belief unshakable
she gave her heart and expected nothing back
She took notice.

clandestine hut, tailored to her soul rather than her hands
bundles of sage dangled where the cats played
a comely face tread the hollow of the room
fire lit, eternally bathing her feet in warmth
newly finished runes etched with care
wooden floor to hold their magic
dried bones and crushed leaves, satchel of sunflowers

in the…

View original post 176 more words

By GrannyMoon Posted in Pagan

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