I live in a country of lost mountains and witch trees. When the wind comes in from the north, it brings ghosts from ancient battlefields, spirits from drowned islands, blood and wordless poems. When it comes westerly, my heart breaks.
Yesterday I walked through a north wind at the edge of the day. It was like my own private march for the things I love and believe in. And all the long way there were songs for inspiration and solidarity : wind songs, dark tree songs, the little melodies of leaves skittering along the ground. Luscious pohutukawa trees, swirling around their tangly limbs, crawled with spirits - fierce lithe ancient spirits drawn out by the sea-washed storm. I would not call them leshys, as they seemed to be made equally from wind and bark, with claws of black tidestones and eyes of smiling light. (Or else they were shadowed leaves, and I have too much imagination. But I believe it's really up to each of us whether we want to experience this world scientifically or as poetry.)
Perhaps they had been waiting as long as I had for rain. Perhaps they had come out to dance for their Divinity, unable to resist the Beauty and the wild call to be as much in the world as possible, which is a storm call, a call of dark clouds and empty streets and ancestors wanting us to honour their sacrifices.
Thanks to the encouragement of so many of you, I am working on the six-week series of which I wrote a few days ago. I appreciated very much your kind emails. It hopefully won't be long in coming.
I have been reading Martin Shaw's new book, Scatterlings, and intend to share my responses to it via the old e-letter which has mostly be lying silent for a while now. So if you are interested in that (perhaps you have read the book yourself and would like to have a conversation) do feel welcome to subscribe to the e-letters through the link at the bottom of this page.
For all of you walking today ... and all of you standing in place ... my love and gratitude.