SOLSTICE IN THE RABBIT HOLE by Peno Hardesty

on this---the longest night---the rains fall heavy---as though the sorrows of creation weep together----thunder roars---a warning---then lightening---a message---si---we weep and we question but thunder warns us not to stop living---not to stop fighting for justice ---not to stop seeking truth---lightening reminds us that there is both pain and exhilaration in moving----moving forward---we weep that we might release---we weep that we might breathe---we weep that we might remember strength and courage---we weep that we might understand cleansing and rebirth of spirit---we weep that we might walk--anew--------in this darkness we see clearly---we focus---we allow truth to be-----we accept.................................................

may the blessings of the solstice find each of us and may each of us recognize the blessing................................................

CHRISTMAS PAST IN THE RABBIT HOLE by Peno Hardesty

see----long long ago little wibble wobbles---oh I am sorry----wibble wbbles is a unicorn---a rather tiny unicorn---and his horn is on his nose so he had trouble learning to walk and balance and all------long long ago wibble wobbles met santa clause---santa did not mind that wibble wobbles wobbled a bit-----santa could see that wibble wobbles was lonely---and shy and tiny-----but wibble wobbles loved to sing---just sing and sing---but with a horn on your nose sometimes the singin' ain't so good---so wibble wobbles just sang to the trees and the wind-- santa took wibble wobbles one Christmas eve on a special flight---all the way to florida usa------it was a cold night even in florida but the sky was clear and the stars were very bright so santa's sleigh could hide among them----down below there was a clubhouse where a little family was singing----the little boy played the keyboard---and although he had no horn on his nose he could not sing so good but it was the most beautiful music that wibble wobbles had ever heard---santa explained to wibble wobbles that the music came from the heart of the little boy-- so good ---so true ---a little boy who believed in magic people and love ------believing is the music----wibble wobbles wrote a note to the little boy that very night---in crayon---and even though some words were misspelled and some letters were backwards it was a magic letter because it was written with love----believing is the magic------wibble wobbles still rides with santa on christmas eve--and sings to the stars--and still wibble wobbles sees the little boy--- now all grown up with a little girl of his own---and the magic that was in the letter from wibble wobbles---the words- the love --the giving-- are in the heart of the little girl- and the little girl --although she has no horn on her nose does not sing but she draws the music and she writes the music and the music is beautiful------because that is how love grows and magic shines and dreams become real----believing is the love and love is...............................................

Winters in Colorado by Barbara Carvallo

Just Joey

Winters in Colorado can be formidable; although, they are not nearly as wet as they used to be.  Still, deep and prolonged cold is to be expected.  This November, for instance, has been the coldest in 200 years. 

As a gardener I know that unseasonably warm temperatures throughout too much of the late fall and winter are not good for most ornamental perennials grown in climates like mine.  However, this year my roses went from 55 degree days to below zero nights in a week’s time.  That is extremely hard on even established roses.  I am concerned about two new roses freshly planted this past spring.  They are Just Joey and Smoke Ring pictured here. 

When the dark and cold of winter set in I think about the many plants nestled below ground that need the cold for proper development.  Bulb plants like daffodils, lilies, tulips, and some iris require the cold of winter to mature and produce lovely shows for the next season.  

Smoke Rings

From the Goddess' Gardens by Barbara Carvallo

Simplicity is the glory of expression. ... Walt Whitman

Goddess' Golden Gift by Barbara Carvallo

These are fall crocus.  On their stamen - golden tendrils and tops in the center - is the exotic and precious spice saffron.

Addendum:

In some of the literature that I have read it is said that the saffron is on the stigma.  It is very hard to see so I am attaching a diagram of the flower as a link.

Flower Anatomy

Hecate at Samhain by Barbara Carvallo

Hecate, the Great Crone of Wisdom, is the Goddess at the Crossroads.  She holds a lantern, a light to help us see our path as we approach the many junctions of destiny.  She does not tell us which way to go, but allows us to find what has heart and meaning for us.  At Samhain when the Wheel has come full circle we harvest the seeds of consciousness we planted the year before and plant for the next year by Her gracious light.  

On this Samhain I pray Goddess will help us each and collectively as a nation find the right path for the good of all, according to the free will of all.  As a Pagan I understand one great sacrilege, to lay my hands or my will on another’s Karma.  We must all do our Karmic dance with the music we are given, and we must resist in the strongest possible way any attempt to force us to dance to another person’s melody.

Blessed Be

Ancient Mother by Barbara Carvallo

Our Ancient Mother is all reality manifest,
Within Her heart all truth dwells,
She holds the Earth in Her arms,
As She holds all life upon it in Her womb.

Goddess comes to us as we have always known Her,

Hecate, Brigit, Bast, Isis, Astarte, Kali and more,
Singing to our heart, She whispers Her name,
Invoking the image our spirit eternally yearns to see.

We all come to know Her in the fullness of time,
In the way we need Her and can best serve Her,
No one can tell another who She is, for our vision is our own,
This is Her will and ever has been.

Autumn in the High Country by Barbara Carvallo

Autumn chases Dawn into the light every morning now.  The breeze picks up her feet and dances windy as the Sun sets, splashing September’s gold, crimson and indigo spray from the pool of the Western sky.  The Mighty Rockies breathe the scent of pine and early changing Aspen down over the Prairie.  I imagine I smell the crisp clean chill that is the prelude to Winter drifting from the great red-stone canyon that lines the beautiful Boulder Creek running wild with the blood of the Goddess.  How insignificant we are in the face of such grandeur.  Our schemes and plots are trivial when set beside the glory of the smallest flower.  Daily my home reminds me that we are as the least speck of dust in the eye of the Great Mother who created my Colorado, and if there is a place more beautiful I have never seen it on this side of dreaming or the other.

Goddess' Garden by Barbara Carvallo

Moving slowly and beautifully toward fall.