Mj Pettengill

The smell of wet wild earth Is everywhere.

It is with love, joy, and concern that I hear messages woven within an earthly tapestry of sacred harmony.

I am greeted by the bird chorus in the Singing Tree each morning.

So instead of going on about how I authentically care for the planet and its inhabitants, I am celebrating a week or so of silence.

I stand amidst the falling snow, deep within myself.

Reclaim your wildness, and own your intended state.

Often, we sense the presence of the ancient ones through the subtle movement of trees, birds, animals, and plants.

If I witness the death of a thousand trees, did it really happen? Does it matter?

The time has come to shelter deep within the earthen womb of Our Mother.

I do not understand why some people purchase the forest only to kill the trees.

She is on her own, free to make the journey to warm, sunny Mexico. I wish her well.

We must wait until the time is right, not too soon or too late, to break out of the chrysalis—

I use ground pine needles in addition to, or in place of, flour in some recipes, creating healthy, mouthwatering delights.

New England Aster blossoms are perfect in my apothecary in tea and tincture form.

In bird time, it was equal to a half hour; in real-time, it was about thirty seconds.

We must take the time to comprehend the consequences of our actions, both good and bad.

As a perennial hermitess, this is bearable— even preferable—but the time has come to emerge from the cocoon.

The stems of the elderberries look like lungs.

If you were blindfolded and tasted Sumac Lemonade, you would think it was an authentic citrus lemonade.

“Anyone who tells a lie has not a pure heart and cannot make a good soup.” — Beethoven