The Druids believed that every tree and plant carried its own song, an energy signature that could be read like a rune if one was present enough. In the rustle of leaves, the bend of branches, or the crackle of falling bark, there were messages for those who knew how to hear them.
This isn’t just about ritual or theory. It’s about belonging. It’s about finding your way back to balance when you feel lost. It’s about discovering that you were never alone.
Keening is not about fixing. It’s about acknowledging. It’s about reverence for what has been lost, and the spirits who still linger in the wounds. And as I sit with the land, this desolate, aching Earth. Even if I didn’t choose the damage, I can select the devotion that follows because this is what it means to love the land not just in spring, but in sorrow.
A Prayer and an Invitation to Remember, by Leandra Witchwood Spirits of root and wing and flame, Whispered ones without a name, We see you in the sway of trees, We hear you carried on the breeze. Wild and watching, old and near, Draw us close and make it clear, The world is not asleep nor still. It waits for us to trust… and feel.
