Monday 13 January 2020

A Black wing casts a shadow in the storm. A voice upon the sand.

The wind pushes through the trees of the coppice wood, the spirits of place eagerly diving for cover to escape the coming storm.
He watches, still in his composure, old one eye, master of the gallows tree, chieftain of the wild hunt and father of war, strong and silent his eerie gaze across the woodland realm, a thousand eyes stare back in awe as the sylvan realm takes a breath, The forest creaks to the sound of Tall trees bending to kiss the ground only then to stand tall before their backs are broken.
Woodsmoke brings an ethereal mist to this world, Ghosts dance to an unheard tune and an unseen vision is spoken of upon the wind, I listen with eager tension to what it says.

Another winter onslaught comes set to batter the windows of this home, furious anger conceived upon the great Atlantic, once more to tread havoc upon this already saturated isle.
And yet in but a day or two it shall become no more than a distant echo, trees will fall and the soil will move, wood to be chopped and earth to be dug, then like so much the whole affair will be forgotten.
It will be with a warm hearth that we remember this tempest, lost to the ether the anxiety and the fears to be replaced by a crackling fire, the company of the beloved and perhaps a story or a song.

I will remember always the words, caught upon the breeze, wisdom that came screaming within the gale, whispered in the dark or sung within  the bright light of day, I remember still the lamenting voice blown across the sea grass and sand to breech the Abbey walls of that windswept holy isle, not unlike the raiders we were in that moment, and I remember still the promises we made, the laughter and the love.

The storm it may pass and yet within the soul it can rage still, what is said cannot be unsaid and more importantly, what is felt cannot be undone,  unfelt.

We do what we have to, what is necessary, or at least what we think we have to or deem necessary at the time, always to dream that when the sky clears everything will be OK, that we have indeed made the right choices, used the correct words, sometimes the words used were the wrong ones, the choices made were made in error stuck within a moment of thick fog. yet despite this tumultuous weather the vision through the eyes of this one has become far clearer.

The storm came and went, the sky cleared and we chopped wood, dug the soil and reset the hearth.
This ones door remains always open to the true, an ear to hear a tale and a welcome at the fire.

A black wing casts a shadow, within that shadow burns the flame of kin,of honour, of home and welcome to any who would have it.
We tread the round, we sing the songs of our ancestors and we share the bounty that it brings, sometimes it takes a Storm to clear the way for something better, this is a beginning of a new story and not the end of an old one, I hope that there are many more chapters of that one still to wright.

Flags, Flax and Fodder.
Tony Macleod.
Clan of the black wing

Thursday 20 June 2019

From Regret and Sorrow, to the Clan of the Black wing.

 Midsummer's eve and the green is fit to burst, this year a hairs breath twixt fruitfulness and failure, we await the roll of that particular dice with all the anxiety of dog upon a slip, ready to run or stay upon the twists and turns of fate, hungry or sated, only time will be the judge of that riddle.

The skylark heralds the call of summer yet the cuckoo's voice may still be heard, seasons collide in this modern age of change and blame, this song of the world still gladdens the heart of this old warrior, for nothing stays the same and eager I am to dance with my oss once more.

Fate is an unpredictable mistress at times, it's cruel bite and bitter venom can leave the assailed in whirlwinds of confusion, actions are never without consequence and willingly we pay the price... Eventually.

I am truly sorry to those whom I offended, to those to whom I was cruel or inconsiderate, my judgement was floored, in truth I had no intention of being here now to even begin to contemplate these actions, yet my own Wyrd is not done, fate she finds a way and forward into the coils of time we go.
In my haste I shut many doors, other doors were shut for me, I live by the sword so be judged by the same I must, I hold no bitter fruit and hope that others too shall ponder upon the golden moments we shared and overlook the rusted iron of my own misjudgement, as I have said there is regret and there is much sorrow, what is Is ,so now we journey into what might be.

 On we move to a new age, each life we have is short and there is little time to achieve what we would like to achieve, or so the more ambitious amongst us might assume.
Separation from one family brings need fire to another, the healing balms took far longer to patch these wounds than I had hoped, I will always bear the deep scars of fate's own blade but it is now that I declare myself ready to walk the crooked paths once again.

It was my oldest friend, my dearest brother that urged me to not let my understanding of my Craft die with me, to forge ahead, keep going and leave a legacy that the ancestors would have been proud of.
A long while I have pondered upon this quest and have at last set foot among the briar's and thorn that beguile the hidden way, truth is that it feels as though I never left, truth is I never left I was only preoccupied.
I do not do this alone, a new family comes to the light, there is space a plenty for other travellers within the body of this dragon, so to old friend's and new folk alike I would bid you welcome aboard, behind fair wind or foul, beneath a black wing we shall go.

It is to the future we must travel, what has been done is done and we have perhaps urned some of life's hardest of lessons.
However, the wilderness is not a place to fear, it is a forge that rebuilds us better and stronger than we were, we fail in our lives if we wait for others to drag us from within its grasp, to take control of ones own destiny is the key, or perhaps roll over onto your back and expire, as individuals the choice is up to us.

So aside from the sorrow and regret, it is with love, honour and respect to my brothers and sisters of the craft that I step from the shadows and into the light once more. I wish every success in their own future and would joyfully hope that they would wish likewise to my own.

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony MacLeod.
Clan of the Black Wing.

Sunday 2 December 2018

New beginnings,bitter fruit and the arrival.

A bitter wind from the east blows memory out from the gathering dust, turning and dancing in the mind of this hapless fool, awakenings, realisation and  knowing, life is different now.
Thoughts, as tears have left bitter tracks across the landscape of the soul and yet serve to remind us still that we are indeed alive and that life goes on regardless of whether we are or not.

Triumphs, achievements, new life and new beginnings, tinged with the bittersweet reminders of another life since departed. Indeed, it becomes far too easy to disappear into a insular world of self pity and woe unto I.
Easier still it becomes to demand an explanation, a retribution of attitude and treatment from another without once turning the spotlight upon our selves, is it not true that this journey through hell should become easier by taking our responsibilities to heart, admitting our failings and redressing a balance where ever possible?

The seed of haste has born forth the fruit of regret, a notion I once promised never to carry and yet as the proverb states I have my leisure in which to repent, much left unsaid, unfinished and unexplained, perhaps one day to atone for my own misgivings, to talk once more and to laugh beneath the same roof if not beneath the open sky.

All is not grim my friend, for below the iron grey sky we await the arrival of a new warrior, my eldest daughter's son, my own grandchild is upon his way,  a new thread within the wyrd perhaps to shine far brighter that this tired line, which is exactly what both my children have done.
Never a day passes that I do not consider the people they are,the wonderful humans they have become. the strength and fortitude of ones so young, shield maidens both and an honour to call them my own.

And so we move to what may become a brighter future, let us base this world on communication and cooperation, not on loss and regret, let us talk by the fireside and listen to what we all have to say, listen to the song of the worlds, we are stronger together. A great man once told of the pain he felt wandering the wilderness on his own, I guess that to fully understand this one must (with some regret) walk in the wilderness also, I pray for that time to come to an end.

I shall look to my own failings, I will strive to become better than I am, for one day it is I that will be an ancestor to my people, perhaps one to be proud of, that is not for me to decide, and if we can all proceed thus then a cross word would be rare and an helping hand will be willing.
I shall carry my craft with pride and just maybe my own saga will be told.

Flags,Flax and Fodder.

Thursday 9 August 2018

It takes time to heal, the inedible nature of books.

 It's been a long while, since this one has sat before this machine in vain attempt to conjure words from within an addled brain and wandering mind.
Light and time has continued to wind its way, often unobserved by this wanderer but continues nonetheless, a sound unheard by one often dances upon the ears of another, playing mindful song leaving only the choice of whether to dance or just simply listen.

A lost and shattered soul that lay in many pieces scattered upon this sand, each torn and broken fragment blown to every shadow in every world, it takes time indeed to heal, to become a spectre of what you once were is but a start, a seed, to search out the keys, the secrets to life, survival and forward to live and love once more.

Nothing is impossible.
Only, it takes time indeed to heal, far longer than many would assume, far longer than this travelling fool could have imagined, and yet in the darkest hour, am I whole, did I collect all the pieces?

Or, did I find new pieces that would fit, smooth the roughened edges of the soul to enable it to manifest some kind of completeness.

Questions that are for others to answer, I know my truth, your own truth will be different from mine.

And so among the scorched fields of late summer I walk still, within the shades cast by the moon you might catch a glimpse, and upon the wind you may well hear my voice, if you have an ear to listen that is.

This wanderer in the wilderness has survived by the generosity and patience of good people, a debt to the beloved and a deeper connection to wyrd, love and a return to the realm of the living, the key found and the door cast aside.
And yet in truth a deeper sadness remains, to think upon a time when others may have thought to cast this wretch aside, in pursuit of other needs perhaps, or a loss of patience, understanding, these, once again are riddles not destined for this one to answer. Only regret haunts this healing mind, and yet that said may be not his own. Forced still to take the decisions for himself, to keep that choice his own, perhaps that was the design, it was what was needed, Wyrd in all things, perhaps that at least is clear.

It takes time indeed to heal,  patience is a hunters virtue and not often considered to be one of the academic, and yet without the hunter the learned would become hungry, man cannot eat books after all.

Flags, Flax and Fodder.
Tony Macleod.

Thursday 22 December 2016

The Desert rose blooms from lost seeds of hope.

I watched, as one by one the grains of sand fell through the glass of time.

I heard them fall, each one a hope, each one turning to dust, descended into that abyss, this world became dark and the music was gone. Inspiration deserted me, a love lost, ground to shreds upon the the mill of time, this part of something became a part of nothing within that mist, that acrid smoke.
I choked upon it, welcomed the end, searched for oblivion, and yet within this lost world, this longest darkest night of the soul I found hope once again could bloom.

Two all but broken things, one chance taken, one opportunity grabbed by the starving, both hands reaching out, hungry for hope, for possibility.
Two worlds which circle one another in a cruel dance of mistrust born of love and reared by loss, could this really be ?
Two minds that see though the same eyes, angry as these fires of hell burned around them, those icy flames that in truth offer no warmth.

And yet, from this pit of despair we climbed, each hold more fragile than the last, until we hit that gentle slope, there, we could feel the faint breeze of relief upon our faces, warmer now as it flowed across this arid land, we spoke of dreams, we ran toward the shadows and embraced the light within, we held each other as this sun was rising, cutting through the fog, moving forward, slowly at first, then to run like children, breathe the air of life.

We were back.

This fragile earth upon which we walk did welcome our storm, and I once again heard music upon the wind, faint words whispered into my ear. Those who loved us began to circle our fire, this darkest of nights became brighter as they too breathed a sigh of relief.

And so, it seems, we are what this world has made us, good and bad, sometimes we must roll the dice, take that leap of faith, for the impossible is indeed possible, we hold what we have been given close to our hearts because it is the fibre of our souls, we cannot ever forget those who are no longer present,we just need to remember that love is the sharpest blade, the keenest edge, the true forge of what remains of humanity.
Two broken things can become one splendid thing, two lost souls can find their way out of the wilderness or even simply learn to love being a part of it.

I count myself a lucky man, for I have loved, I have been loved, I lost that love and my heart was shattered into a thousand pieces, one by one they return, the sands of time defy gravity and sing themselves upwards into the sphere that is living. A part of me died yet now I am alive, as if fate herself had listened to those screams of pain and decided that within her pity she would deal me a second chance.

I found love again, I found passion and hope, I found music and inspiration. It was there all along, but nothing comes to the ones who wait for it to come to them, every journey must start with reason.

Love is like the desert rose, it may have thorns and yet it is able blossom within the harshest of environments, and when you are lucky enough to gaze upon its beauty you know that you can live again.

Flags,Flax and Fodder. Tony. xxxxx

Tuesday 4 October 2016

A wealthy man, The bones of Kvasir and the Wyrm's treasure.

Tony Macleod

Bright autumn sun, calls forth the coming of winter.
The cooling wind arrives upon the wings of geese, drawing warmth from the land.
She whispers to the world, "prepare, for the darker times are coming".
The arboreal realm begins to lose its emerald cloak, soon to crowned in golden hue, and then to fade.

Change is upon us dear friends.

Softer the loam in the woodland glade, the signs of hoof, of pad and claw, upset the fallen leaves and twisted thorn, to tell the story of the ones who pass.
Upon broken branch and upturned stone, there lies a saga worthy of a Earl.

Never to be forgotten.

Children of the earth, the time of the feast is nearly upon us, fill your bellies and you will weather the famine, take all you are given, for every gift is a treasure to hold.
Take fire where it is offered, the comfort of the hearth, the shelter of the hospitable, the tales that are told before the crackling flames.

For all are gifts my friends.

Perhaps the Wyrm's own hoard can never be held by hands alone, yet the heart may hold it all.
When trinkets have turned to dust, that sweet nectar will still taste as the bones of Kvasir, inspiration through the darkest night, slaking the thirst of the one who truly holds that golden trove.

So we share this horn my friends.

And so, beggar I may be, within that wilderness I had not a thing, I partook of this game and she won.
And yet she had mercy, for I am a wealthy man, in truth she took nothing, for what I hold is a gift beyond all the silver in the world, I have been loved and I am loved.

My heart overflows, with the dragon's wealth.

I will gladly share these jewels my friends.

Autumn, by Victoria macleod  

Flags, Flax and Fodder. Tony

Wednesday 31 August 2016

A broken man, a rat beneath the table and a sword red with blood.

I remain a broken man,
Torn into pieces by the winds of circumstance.
Alike to the old one, a sacrifice, broken upon that wheel of fate.
And there lies this truth.

Perhaps within the shattered soul, hope lingers yet.
For there are those who I have forsaken that forgive this errant fool.
Those who indeed did bring me food, when I was empty,
brought me mead when inspiration seemed but a distant memory,
those dearly beloved that tended these wounds.
They tend them still.

And there lies a far deeper truth.
The love of family, this jewel of the emerald forest.
Blood and bone will always hold.
For if it had failed, if it were all but a show.
This broken man would be food for the Raven.
A name only , a person "never-more".

This wound still festers.
Perhaps it always will.
Yet I know that this weight is shared by the beloved.
and by this act it becomes far less to carry.
So let none cast doubt upon mine own.
together we remain and stronger we become.

This Shield wall stands.
Oak and Iron, tooth and claw.
Spears eager to seek sweet justice reward.
To sometime dine in retribution's burning glory,
Or perhaps to keep that wolf at bay
For it is the bright steel that shall keep our banner high.

Let it so be known that.
The fish of the land shall retreat to their holes.
no longer to sate themselves upon another's loss,
or to beg for scraps from the Kings own table.
My Axe shall be scarlet, my sword will run with gore.
Vermin is not welcome in our halls.

Many thanks and much love to those whom have supported this fool over the past months, Damaged goods I may be, but without your love and support I would be gone, you have all forgiven my anger and nursed my wounds as I have already said, and without you all I would be gone.
To you all, you are my family, you have my love and my loyalty. My sword and my heart (what is left of it ) shall always be yours. 

Flags, Flax and Fodder.