I've been a bit quiet on here lately, not because I haven't wanted to blog and certainly not because I haven't had anything to say (hell would freeze over, hens would grow teeth and rocking horses would produce enough fertiliser for the whole south west before that happened), but rather because I have been on a roller coaster ride of feeling so ill and run down I could barely move one minute and working like a demon to make up for lost time the next.
My dragon fixation seems to have faded and been replaced with heads. Druids, Kings, Knights, Warriors, all have been filling my head and finding a place atop a staff. So far I've chickened out of attempting a female face - you can hide a multitude of sins with a beard- but I think I shall make that my next project. This is all new to me and I'm learning as I go. It has been frustrating at times, and some pieces have gone through several incarnations before a character has emerged that both I and the wood are happy with, but ultimately it has been very rewarding, if challenging, process.
All work and no play makes Jack this druid a dull boy however, so I haven't been entirely confined to either my sick bed or my work room. As Imbolc loomed on the horizon I was struggling to prepare for spring having not really seen or felt much of winter this year. As much as my aching bones enjoy the milder weather we had been experiencing, on a more spiritual level it seemed unnatural to be greeting Bride without having met with the Hag. With that in mind, when out running errands we spied a blanket of white across distant hills, the pull towards the Snow Queen was strong.
I am only a weak willed Druid, married to an even weaker willed witch (seriously, she was bouncing up and down with excitement, squealing 'can we go play in the snow? Can we? Can we, Pleeeease?') so we abandoned our plans, turned around the car and headed towards Dartmoor and the sprinkling of white stuff. I just can't say no to my Lady, not the one I'm married to nor the Lady of the Winter Wilds.
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| Dartmoor Snow |
The peace I always find on the high moor was multiplied ten fold by the hazy sky and the crisp winter moor. The air was bitter cold but it told me I was alive. The wind cut like a knife but carved away all my troubles. The snow chilled me to the bone but cleansed my soul.
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| Hazy Dartmoor Moods |
On the day before Imbolc, winter finally arrived for me.
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| Winter Sheep |
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| Snow Dusted Moor |
