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Occasionally I wandered in where I was not wanted and gave truthful answers.
Sometimes I even did it deliberately. A little disruption now can prevent disaster later.


Twenty-seven trees.

Since I accepted that I was pagan, I’ve planted twenty-seven trees in out of the way places.

One every year, on or around Arbor Day. I used to combine it with Beltaine. Now it’s part of my Summergate celebration. Although I usually do it a week or two before.

On or around Arbor Day.

I don’t plant these trees at my house or even in my town. Sometimes I plant them in the forest. Sometimes I plant them in the desert. Twice I’ve planted them near a river.

I know they probably haven’t all survived. But I know that there is some blood and sweat mixed in the soil around those trees.

My garden isn’t much. It gives me some vegetables and berries. Now my maternal grandfather, he was a gardener. He would give away most of what he grew.

Today I shared some of the berries from my garden with a curious raven. He didn’t like it much.

Yesterday I checked on my mother. She has her father’s touch, but she grows flowers. Her yard is gorgeous. “Sister,” he’d tell her, “you can’t eat flowers.”

“But Daddy, they feed the soul.”

That’s what those trees are for.

They feed my soul.

I took some of the magick that is around, I drew it through me and wove it with a young tree. I took it to a special place and planted it.

I like to think that the tree carries some of the Earth’s magick. It helps my spirit. It is a gift that give back.

Twenty-seven times.

So far.

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A narrow slice of life, but now and again pondering American neopaganism, modern adult pagans & the World.

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