a journey to the river

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“For a witch stands on the very edge of everything, between the light and the dark, between life and death, making choices, making decisions so that others may pretend no decisions have ever been needed. Sometimes they need to help some poor soul through the final hours, help them to find the door, not to get lost in the dark”

— Terry Pratchett, The Shepard’s Crown

I find myself wearing my shepard’s crown more often than not lately – in the mundane and while doing the work. I held it in my hand during my last tattooing of crow as I silently thought about the giving of service. I wear it in counsel with my cards. It has replaced my hedge bag. Recently I released that one to the river for reasons I choose not to share. I have noticed a small shifting of things about me since.

Owl’s fetiche has made its way over to keep company with Stag. I’ve begun to think of them as lord and lady, old man and old woman, the wildling ones watching in the distance. They are present in my practice, not so much as ones of mine in the sense that I think of mine, but more as a guiding presence along the path.

I’ve had a steady stream of people through my path here recently, for one reason or another. It’s been a constant flow and lately I’ve felt the draw of Bear’s quiet more profoundly. My dreams have been odd and full of jumble, and I am curious as to the whys of so much new activity. However, I do what is needed in so much as I can and when I find it best to step out of the rabble, I hold my shepard’s crown and remember its greatest lesson. .

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