Elen Sentier Writer

I do bad things and I do them very well

Tag

old wisdom

Night of the Mothers

This is a reblog from 2 years back but it wanted to come out again for this Sun Return …

Midwinter’s Eve

Midwinter’s eve is the time before the winter solstice, the day the sun is at the lowest point on its arc, and the day before it stands still for three days before turning around again and beginning to rise higher… Continue Reading →

4 elements workshop

Lyke ways and Corpse roads

From Ancient Wisdom, on Ley Lines I grew up with old ways, spirit ways, death roads all around me and in the village where we lived we used them in the old ways too. the featured picture is of part… Continue Reading →

Song of the Soul Catcher

  #poetry today #folklorethursday  

Midsummer Turning of the Year

Today the sun moves on Three days he has stood still Rising at the same point on the horizon While the two kings wrestle Oak has been the guardian Caring for the Lady Since the Sun-Return of Midwinter Now it… Continue Reading →

Hunter in Darkness

Whiskers twitching Ears listening Eyes slit She senses her prey in the gloaming light Night holds no terrors Except for Man Him she shuns eludes Escapes if she can Whiskers twitching in the gloaming light On the wild island where… Continue Reading →

Four Magpie Brothers

Four young magpies, brothers, sat upon the porch roof this morning. Squabbling, squawking, pecking the tiles. Wicked, so they are. Lads and louts. Waiting to see what I will do. I go to the window. They’re watchful But I get… Continue Reading →

The Mother’s Blanket

High up The road goes on Over the cliff of nowhere Into the lands of everywhere The Mother’s blanket Blue and white and grey Hangs over all Giving the water of life Land Songs Series © Elen Sentier 2017 all rights… Continue Reading →

Brisingamen

A taster from the novel I’m currently writing … Brisingamen The thirteen golden moons shone out in her memory. Where were they, what had her mad red-haired brother done with them? She lay back in the bed trying to remember…. Continue Reading →

Lady & Lord in Herefordshire

In what’s now called the Golden Valley are two little churches, either side of the Dwr river , Turnastone and Vowchurch. When the Normans arrived here sometime after 1066 they misinterpreted this Welsh word dŵr, which means water, for the… Continue Reading →

Blackthorn Ceridwen

Blackthorn flowers before the leaves come and may flower as early as Imbolc, especially now climate change and global warming are well underway. The two British thorn trees, blackthorn and whitethorn (otherwise known as the May Tree and hawthorn) hold… Continue Reading →

Imbolc

Says it all for me …    

Bridey’s Flower: a blog for Imbolc

In my end is my beginning … Eliot again, now at Imbolc as at Samhain. And now again, the story ends and the story begins, turning and cycling round the seasons. Hiding in the bushes beside the clearing where the… Continue Reading →

Robin Song

Sometimes the simple call of a bird transports me across worlds, to another time, a memory time … I’m suddenly back 50-odd years, walking a lane in deep midwinter, snow piled up along the hedgerows, clear over my head, and… Continue Reading →

3 Kings Night

Big day for us here today, with lots of biodynamics to do. We’ve spent the past 11 days stirring Prep 500 (horn manure) each day … one day for each month of the coming year … and today is the… Continue Reading →

Wren Boys – the Hunting of the Wren

The Wren Boys are an old tradition and so is the Hunting of the Wren. Its later forms, in Ireland, included catching a wren, sometimes keeping it alive and parading it round the village and at others killing it –… Continue Reading →

Night of the Mothers

It’s old, old, old. It’s the eve of sun-return, the 24th of December, that the Christians now call Christmas eve. It’s the night the mothers come together to rebirth the sun. I was thirteen when I could first go. At… Continue Reading →

Fire Wood – Wisdom of the Ages

Dad taught me this poem when I was a kid, never forgotten, and very good advice. Part of our old folklore & magic. Poem by Cilia Congrave 1930 Beechwood fires are bright and clear If the logs are kept a… Continue Reading →

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