Unseen Magic

As I start my 54th trek around the sun I find myself in an odd place. . .  mostly moved out of my home of nearly 6 years, finishing some shifts at my beloved coffee shop, days away from the final car load to Seaside and crashing in the home of my ex - a home we shared in the  midst of a pear orchard.

I had a holy spot on the western end of the orchard. It was edged by Indian Creek and a small wood. My daughter and I rolled ottoman sized stones into place to form a circle. There were many full moon gatherings, both solo or with my sacred circle of friends. It was, and as I just discovered, still is, a magical place. 

I am grateful to the Universe (and to Kelvin) for letting me land here for a few last days before leaving for my new home. 

The pull of the invisible new moon

stirs me from slumber . . .

insists on my participation . . .

calls me.

I know the way,

even in the moonless darkness.

My feet have walked this path

more times than I remember.

Of this I am sure -

I have been here before.

I mean really before.

I follow the wide path through the pear trees.

West - South - West again.

The stand of woods rises out of the mist.

Yes, there really is mist.

Oh, I've missed this place.

My sacred place of stone and trees.

Much has happened here - 

 women have gathered

     stories have been told

    tears shed

      strength reclaimed.

     The magic runs deep.

The stones are long since scattered . . .

The graceful cottonwood,
strewn with beribboned offerings,
is gone.

But

the space is here.

The Guardians, the spirit, the magic . . .

all here.

And, as with the new moon,

that unseen, but remembered,

is all the more powerful.