Wednesday, 1 June 2011

The Mighty Oak, a clumsy boot and a gallic Crocodile

The fire crackles into life and smoke entwines itself through leaf and branch.
Green and proud, the sentinel stands, keeper of secrets and herald of the chthonic realm, king of the mound and guardian of the abyss, watcher and shepherd to those that would approach that sacred realm.
Mighty Oak, adorned in life, majestic tree of ages three, one to grow, one to live and one to die, as above as so below, the hidden door to a world of deep knowledge, ancestor and home, defender of the fugitive, protector of this realm, I salute you at this time of your splendour.

Beneath this opulent canopy, it comes once more to pass that summer madness is upon us all, endlessly trying in vain to maintain some kind of order from among the chaos and distractions at this time of insanity, yet often to fail and get caught by the traps and pitfalls littered throughout the world of man.
Many folk descend to this coastal haven to to take the sea air and rid themselves of the burdens of everyday existence, busy roads and cluttered streets, the lifeblood for a county that has Little else to offer, so a smiling face and a touch of courtesy would go a long way to help fill the county's coffers.
The older children within our society, having served their time, prepare to take the first steps into the "real" world, work, college and all the cruelties involved, the next phase in the lives of the innocent, talented shapers of creation one and all.
Chaos all around.

The season of Loki is here once again, at least for this traveller who would stumble along the crooked road, more diligence and care is required, as the digital world of communication serves to teach this one a lesson once again.
Perhaps I have become far to comfortable with this electronic medium, forgetting on occasion the subtle nature of words and of the perceptions that are born of them, a statement that may be intended as a question becomes as an insult if not properly worded, care must be taken when opinions are thrust into the realm of another who perhaps we have never met, unable to see the smile on your lips, or hear the inflections upon the voice, words alone will perhaps deceive the reader from their true intent, hurt will then manifest itself in incorrect assumptions, anger and emotional discomfort, such a snare has had me by the neck this week, but lesson learnt and endeavours will be made not tread so heavily when walking in the gardens of others, for if we should refuse the invite or jump over the fence to safety we shall be denied the fruit of wisdom and there is nothing to be gained.

Brief contact and deeper thought with my own dear brother serve to bring great strength to this would be Cunning man, separation by distance overcome, we work and explore the darkness together, the sun returns to mark another year upon his life and I for one shall raise an Ale in his honour, bright blessings my true kinsman and may you have many more.

Finally, if one should ever wonder what it might be to live within the realms of Mr Punch, then please feel free to spend a few days beneath our own roof, as our home would adjoin that of "the Punches" there is much verbal abuse toward the children, shouting, screaming and most certainly the consumption of sausages, no policemen although I suppose I could become the devil within the mix, I shall let you know if and when a crocodile should make an appearance, and if it does it will most likely be fluent in french as are the rest of them.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony.

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