There are a few places in DC where the fey are so populous and so strong that I have trouble staying on the road, staying above ground, not heading directly off to join the dance that you think lasts a night but that sends you back home in the morning to your grandchildren’s grandchildren.
I drove into one today, unmeaning and unawares, and circled, as my suddenly-enchatned GPS played loop the loop and took me several times around my destination, to see leaves falling, less than 48 hours before Litha, as if it were mid-September. And I could hear war, and the sounds of war. I could hear the trumpets in the sky and the thunder of hooves on the ground. I could feel the Wild Hunt riding at Litha, when it never should ride.
And all I could do was be amazed at the beauty as I remembered Byron‘s repeated warnings: Tower Time.
These, as Jean Houston sometimes says, are the times for which we were born. (Well, Jean doesn’t say that. She says that these are the times we were born for, but Gotterdamerung or not, I’m not going to end a sentence with a preposition.)
Somehow, I was reminded of Robby Burns’ line: “Then let us pray that come it may, (As come it will for a’ that,).”
I love the fey and I am grateful for their messages. But I’m going to take a salt bath tonight and sleep with a nail under my pillow. Not to protect, because nothing can, against what’s coming, but to save myself for another day when my choice to dance beneath the hill will be a conscious one.
Picture found here.
hecatedemeter 
Don’t’cha wonder though? …
You and me both – not afraid, but not unafraid either.
And poetry running through our heads as though in answer.
Love,
Terri in Joburg
I am in corn country, at PSG. feeling it here, too. How about we have a phone conversation next week? I miss your voice.
Out here in Northern California, at our public Solstice ritual we’ll be “we will do a Snake dance with the song below to
connect as a community, reinforce our group connection & raise energy for our intention (We rejoice in our power and carry forward the light).
We are the power in every one
We are the dance of the moon and the sun
We are the hope that will not hide
We are the turning of the tide.
By Starhawk
Widdershins, Oh, do I ever. Although on the days when I’ve had my fill of a “world more full of weeping than you can understand,” and declare, “Come get me, I’m ready to go,” the fey are often distinctly quiet.
Terri, Yes. You said it better than I could have. Not afraid, but not unafraid and the whole thing full of poetry. That’s it, exactly.
Byron, It’s funny. My very first thought was to call you, but I remembered that you are off teaching. Yes, let’s talk when you get back!!!
Helen, My circle uses that chant, too! It’s lovely and has always been very powerful for me. Blessed Litha!
that sounds like an awesome experience, in the old sense of the word. In Sweden the Hunt does ride at midsummer though, so maybe the one you ran into was that sort….
Things do seem unsettled, don’t they? It’s been so strangely stormy and heavily humid all spring.