Just 12 days out from the longest night and the shortest day, Mid-Winter, Yule approaches.

Waves roll in of fog, faerie webs, and dew drops.

It’s the weaving time, before the sun is born again.

I just visited one of the lower paddocks since the Autumn Equinox Floods that came here twice this year, and found so many gifts, thank you Mother Nature.

I now have a bone garden full of herbs and scattered with bones that the floods never took from this land, where a mother cow lost her fight for life after the birth of her child, she still lays here in this place, born here, lived and died here like her ancestors before her.

I honour her, the land honours her and this is now a sacred place, her resting place where the silt from the rivers floor has now cemented her place and her bones securely in the land.

As the Mid-Winter approaches I focus on the bones and stones that sit here that hold this place and the memories of thousands of years.

The sun is trying to penetrate the land but the fog is winning this morning, patience before another day in winter’s deep hold.