I was watching a gardening programme, a while ago now, and there was a man who had made a whole swathe of his land into a wildflower meadow. His meadow was decades old, and it had many rare and endangered flowers. He let people visit, especially children, and he said whenever they asked him if they could pick a flower, he always said yes. He said he didn’t agree that we should never pick a wildflower, he believed that allowing a child to take a flower home, keep it in a jar of water for a few weeks, and enjoy its beauty every day, might mean they fall in love with it, and if you love a thing, you value it, and if you value something you want to save it.
He believed sharing his flowers might help save them for the future, that by picking something, naming it and taking it home, it becomes part of you, it shares with you. He believed nature should never be forbidden to us, for we are nature, it is us, we are it.
The valley by where I live is an old colliery turned over to nature. It has many wildflowers but I didn’t pick any of them on my evening walk, instead I took photographs and I whispered their names…
Cow vetch….Mallow….Hogweed….Birds Foot Trefoil….Cow Parsley….Dandelion….
The oldest of spells has you name a thing out loud to give it power.
At the end of the walk there is a bench looking out over a flooded quarry, now a rspb reserve. A crow flew down and sat about 3 meters away from me. He cocked his head on the side, when I said good evening to him. I told him I thought he was very handsome, and he opened his beak like he was smiling. He seemed to enjoy the attention, and when I stood up to leave, we bid each other farewell and he flew away.
On the path on my way home I found one single, perfect, black feather. I did take this home with me.
Sending solstice blessings wherever and whatever you are doing x o