Normafa, a nature reserve in the Buda Hills, Budapest.

A path in Normafa
A day spent honoring Winter, in which the roots of trees and people both come forward into sharper relief and ghosts speak louder through the lull. I sang with the subtle symphony of the forest and heard from Her: we’re brethren in our illness. Isn't it obvious? This human sickness is my sickness, hand in hand.
Likewise we’re comrades in survival. We adapt our wondrous being-ness through the onslaught, no surrender, all surrender to the end of this story and through to whatever new beginnings are in store, somewhere, sometime, now.
We prayed to coax in Spring: welcome, you’re welcome, come on and get born already if it’s not too much trouble. Out there, and in our hearts.
Happy Imbolc everybody. Hope your Winter has been a power up, even if it takes some time to tell.

Incense in the roots, Normafa
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