céad mile fáilte from the roundhouse

céad mile fáilte from the roundhouse
strong like the grass
tall like a tree
free like the wind
eternally
nothing to lose
nothing to gain
just running wyld
again and again and again


omnia
"be glad, my merry friends, and let the warm sunlight heat now heart and limb! cast off these cold rags! run naked on the grass, while Tom goes a-hunting!"

Tom Bombadil

*marking my moleskine*





i started writing in my moleskine~throughout my love affair with notebooks i have always been loath to write in them, to mark the lovely clean pages.
but i did it, i started...

and still i spend time~probably too much time~what is wrong with me?!~pondering as to what i will put in it, in what ways will i mark it?

as always i think of the altered garden book that janet over at the lavender loft was given.
i just love the idea of this and it makes me think that in a hundred years time someone finds my book and opens it up
~what will they find?~

1 comments:

Jopan said...

Hello. Just a little question, you know when you had swine flu did you get bad stomach and back pains? i have that and i feel like i'm on fire and i can't sleep one iota. I have a fear of doctors and i want to be very sure before i have to contact one. Sorry to bother you.

Song of Amergin


I am a stag of seven tines,
I am a flood across a plain,
I am a wind on a deep lake,
I am a tear the sun lets fall,
I am a hawk above the cliff,
I am a thorn beneath the nail,
I am a wonder among flowers,
I am a wizard: who but I
sets the cool head aflame with smoke?

I am a spear that roars for blood,
I am a salmon in a pool,
I am a lure from paradise,
I am a hill where poets walk,
I am a boar, ruthless and red,
I am a breaker threatening doom,
I am a tide that drags to death,
I am an infant: who but I
peeps from the unhewn dolmen arch?

I am the womb of every holt,
I am the blaze on every hill,
I am the queen of every hive,
I am the shield for every head,
I am the tomb of every hope.

All things share the same breath~the beast, the tree, the man, the air shares its spirit with all the life it supports.

Chief Seattle

Johney Gaul~1915

Johney Gaul~1915
1890-17 september 1918~France


The beauty of the trees,the softness of the air,the fragrance of the grass,speaks to me.

The summit of the mountain,the thunder of the sky,the rhythm of the sea,speaks to me.

The strength of the fire,the taste of salmon,the trail of the sun,and the life that never goes away,they speak to me.

And my heart soars."

Chief Dan George