Newbie post

Ah my first blog post - not sure what to start with but as I say this is a place to store various writings.   It's the time of year to get motivated to build for the New Year.  My ride yesterday has shown that my Samhuin break (somewhat virally enforced) has reduced my fitness to a pitiful level.

I need to get motivated and back in training which will coincide with additional Druidic work.

As this is a place to store my writings I shall start with an appropriate poem. 
Tree Binding
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What is the alchemy of windering tree

to transmute such ire without a needful pyre?

When lonely travail on the hammerhead trail

strikes my melancholy heart with cutting hail

the trees reach out - oak, hawthorn, beech and sprout

forth inside. Great buds of joy bring forth a shout

of wonderous glee when only talking tree

can bring a smile upon a lonely mile.

When forced to wander with a bitter mind

that youthful trauma enforced with daily grind

t'was in the shelter of familiar woods

that groping memory finds the same old goods;

that wonderous glee, found in talking tree,

the fledgling smile upon the lonely mile.

Such wise chemistries belongs in the trees,

the transformational power, from dust to flower,

is better in the branches than human tranches.

Yet their generosity is wonderful to be

budding forth such glee discovered with the tree

those returning smiles over everlasting miles.

I tend to think of the subconscious as my inner compost heap; all the stuff gets put in there.
It then feeds the conscious garden, and I often think my real garden probably reflects my conscious mind - striving to be ordered but somewhat over-crammed with plants, a little bit neglected and messy but with moments of excellence.
Probably a bit like this Blog will be...

I think there is a balance between the discipline of writing and waiting for the inspiration. It reminds me of a visitation in meditation, during one of the Gwersi...
I was in an Autumnal grove, all fallen leaves and low light levels when between two tree trunks a light appeared. The trunks seemed to move apart and there was the sound of rumbling and a blowing of leaves. A large wain appeared - a large, square hut like wagon on many small wheels# - rapidly running into the grove to stop in a shower of leaves and curling mist. The wain is that dark green that Holly has and is full of the deep tones that the Weald's marsh / fens have. As the doorway opened outwards, becoming a stepped ramp, Frige in all her beauty & wonder steps forth to say
"If you want to be a writer then WRITE."
She gives a meaningful stare, the one that Granny Weatherwax would've used to calm troublesome trolls.
Just as quickly the doorway raises and the Wain rumbles away...

Finally, I also love Haiku (I've produced a day to day account of the Tour de France for the past 7 years) but have developed more recently into a Waka-Gewessi type of 5 lines with 33 syllables which allows more development of ideas.


#I guess similar to Sheelba's house in the Fritz Leiber's Lankhmar series which took inspiration to an extent from Baba Yaga's house and was in turn appropriated by Terry Pratchett for the Luggage.