Under the crimson, primordial sky

“Black is the color of descent. Black is a promise that you will soon know something you did not know before.”

“What magic is gathered from the old trees, from the spirits there, from the forest itself? The haunted pathways that lead into the dark forest have always been shrouded in mystery and fear, evoking a timeless curiosity. I remember as a child the way the woods behind our house called to me, they spoke to me, the trees had such presence, such personalities. Trees do mark the passage of time and memory. Guardians of forgotten homesteads, old apple trees gnarled and thick with lichen hold rainwater pools in hollows. Alder corpses next to the cemetery fill with mist and are still, during windy midnight hours. Lightning struck oak trees transform spirit paths on twilight evenings of the full moon nearest solstice time. Trees of all sorts not only offer incredible material for one’s own folk apothecary, they offer direct instruction and tutelage for those seeking to learn about seasonal and earthen mysteries. Once discovered a wild place hosting a dominant tree in the landscape can be visited again and again, offerings made and intentions spoken. While it is true that not all trees are safe or friendly to a human companion, their roots do grow through an ancient substratum and feed upon the enchanted ways of old.”