Fallen Tree Bower (6 September 2020)

Far out of range, beyond hearing—
whispering through the dell,
we hoofed it, in Brighid’s soft light_
out to Fallen Tree Bower.                            1

Off-trail in a Hidden Clearing
we sported as we fell
into the sequestered moonbeams
of that trans-Midnight hour.                         2

Two trees, fallen at right-angles,
lay upon the mossy ground_
signaling earthen directionings
at Fallen Tree Bower!                                  3

Walking the anima loci,
North of East and South of West_
we found new ley-lines of our Troth,
in witchy hearts flowered!                            4

Sleek the Moonbeams fell upon us
all-Illuminating
a Mystic Landscape far from home—
divining Fay power.                                     5

Rustic Dreams there came upon us_
A Well-within-a-Well_
where Runes and Spells wakened us
at the Deep Heart
_of Fallen Tree Bower.                                 6

Descending to Internal Nemetons;
the Heart’s True Hearth_
We resourced ourselves
and were re-inspired;
clothed in gray-white Moonlight!                   7

And as each dwelt within their Well
at Fallen Tree Bower_
A solemn music overcame us,
mirthing through the Wood!                         8

Then came a Host of Faeryfolk
into our Wooded Station_
all costumed for the Moonlit Night;
Naked for the hour!                                     9

Dancing with the joyous Woodfolk
as dark moonbeams swirled_
across the greensward, ever moist,
we glistened as we flew—
‘round and around and ‘round-about
at Fallen Tree Bower.                                 10

Encountering the quiddity
that set the bower apart,
as anam-cara we regathered
one another and other ones
as we danced with the Woodfolk
in an Old Mystic Meath!                             11

Quieting in the Moonlight
we raised shunache in our selves
returning to the Bower
from far ranged brooming!                         12

And when the Moon had passed over
we circled the Old Four Towers
coming home from the Sídhe_
to Fallen Tree Bower.                                 13
So mote it be.

- Montague Whitsel