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It is a dark day here. I sit with my head in my hands, the cold rough stone under me, the loose leaves clattering and swirling in the wind as it tosses through the bare temple. This temple is Apollo’s, but the sky is gray, the rain is cold, and… Wraiths walk where there was sunshine. Druid Journal on Facebook
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For the whispering poet and enchanted naturalist that dwells within each of us...  Thoughts and experiences of a practicing Druid, writing from a place of connection, longing and curiosity about the sacredness of ordinary life.  |
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