Mugwort grows here in the summer months, ragwort and wild rose too, the bare skeletons of the latter reach up from the winter grass, the hips bright red like oxgenated blood. The scent of fox urine fills my nose as I enter into the dog foxes territory. It feels like I’ve come home.

There is definitely something about being on a hilltop in autumn, surrounded by mist and the lonely call of the crows. If magic is a feeling, it is this feeling. But then I say the same about the woods, the ocean, the riverside and more. Magic is nature and nature is magic, I guess it really is as simple as that.

Animism is not about the projection of consciousness or agency onto non-human things, but about respect and reciprocity within a more-than-human community that transcends the subject-object dichotomy.

When we see ourselves as part of the landscape, only then, I believe we’ll put in the real work to stop the destruction of it.

But how likely is that do you reckon?

Raise thy snuffling snout;

Raise, cast about,

Enrage and grunt

O bristled screamer

Soon the leaves will unfurl and the cherry fruits will begin to form and grow, ripening in the heat of the summer months. But that time is not yet here and the blossoms are still at their best. Perhaps Hanami is one of the best mindfulness practices, the most easily applied.

The deep, dark wild woods, mysterious and magical, have an almost mythic status amongst Pagans. Indeed there is something so alluring about losing oneself beneath the canopy of the forest. However, for the beginner, the best place to start is somewhere close to you, somewhere you can visit daily or weekly. It can be a garden if you have one, or a local patch of trees, whatever. What is important is that you can get there as often as possible.

The mundane and the spiritual are entwined, twisted together like the ivy that wraps around the fence posts in my garden, not a burden, but each supporting the other, for the fence is rotted and it is only the ivy keeping it standing, but alas I digress.

As I write this, I’m sitting in my garden, drinking my morning brew in the dark and listening to the rain. At this time of year, there isn’t much of a dawn chorus. That melody is better than any orchestra of man, but even in these darker months, the birds are ever present; the chirps of the sparrows nestled in the thick ivy, the loud and melodic call of the blackbird, clear as a bell as is the robins song. It’s no wonder we, mankind, have a special fascination with these feathered creatures as shown in the vast array of folklore associated with birds.

Gods&Radicals published a book I have written: three linked essays about trancing, speaking to the Gods and hearing a response, and being a Believer/Animist. I wrote these essays with taken-by-me photos as part of the story but publishing, alas, puts an unacceptable price on photographs and they had to be left out when we came to it. Here they are-

Yellows, purples and deep blues flit by, easily missed by most, or seen and unseen, scenery and nothing more. The beauty of the wildflowers, their existence forgotten if noticed at all and all before they’ve disappeared from view. All of this glimpsed as I stare out the window, seeking something other than the endless roads stretching ahead lined with traffic spewing fumes, the endless grey of industry and business.

I am an animist, and trees most definitely have spirits. If you spend time outside, you’d do well to spend at least some of it beneath a tree.

We swallow antibiotics as indiscriminate as our pesticides

And vote which color to paint our bombs.

The Anansi stories hold a special place in my heart, what with my family, or at least the paternal side, hailing from the Caribbean. But there’s another important aspect to not only the Anansi stories, but most folk stories, generally speaking of course. Many of them come from the common people. These stories are born from the shared struggle against the harshness of life.

I adore folk lore, superstitions and old wives tales, from all over the world. There are stories and sayings about almost everything you can think of from trees, to birds to the weird and wonderful. I believe such stories give a great deal of insight into humanity’s relationship with the natural world, and highlight the common thread that runs through whilst at the same time celebrating our differences. These stories can help to deepen our understanding of and thus our connection to the land. Here I’ll share with you some of my favourite tree lore.

Now is the time for us rise up, to take direct action against the injustices we see in this world, all injustices, whether to other people, animals or the environment, however we can.

The memories move slowly, languidly. Like syrup or honey, sweet and oh so good, but clear and distinct. I can even remember snatches of conversation, still catch the scent of summer; the early morning coolness, then the hot air of afternoon, tinged with freshly mown grass. I can still feel the shiny black water worm writhing in the palm of my hand as I unfurled my fingers, hoping to see a newt.

Traditions are kept alive through repetition. The gods are honored by honoring the cycles of the seasons, which dictate when offerings are given, and by honoring the process of life and death itself.

the land is the gods

“they are going to create sports pitches and even a wildlife area. A fecking wildlife area!  As if the wildlife isn't already there.”