Do you know where the oak grows?
Where the rose entwined herself within the hedge?
Where the ravens nest? And the blackbird sings and lays her eggs?
Where the water runs off the land and where she sits still in pools?
Where the soil runs thick with clay and where sand proliferates?
Where the Ash grow and the Beech woods are?
You are the guardian of your land. You are the warden, the protector, the knower, the innkeeper, the watcher.
This ancient role is one you stepped into (pun intended) on your daily walks to help your mind find ease. You unintentionally, by repeatedly walking the same pathways and hedgerows, and streams, and meadows and field edges, became the knower of this land, one who hears and sees deeply, one who knows where the birds call home, where the rabbits live, where the fox scats and the badger dens.
You dream deeply this land, your land, you are deeply held by this land as now she is a part of you, and you of her.
You drink and dream with rosehip, collected from the bushes, let to grow thick and tall. Wild Rose softens your heart and sharpens your claws, discernment is what you’ve learnt from her.
You were born in this body and delivered to this land for a reason. Together you share and grow and learn of each other. She wants to know you as deeply as you want to know her, she receives your own wild water from your body as an offering, an act of sharing, knowing.
This connection has saved you, a thousand times over. She holds you in the womb of a hollow oak tree as you bleed out your grief of what it may mean to leave and move to the other side of the world. Even with her permission you decide you are not ready, or wanting, to leave the land of your ancestors, you still have so much left you want to learn.
Walking, walking, walking.
Your wellies in the mud, the deepening and thickening of the land in the dark of the winter days, deep knowing fills you, the essence of the land is potent when everything rests.
You love the summer, and yet the winter brings her own magic, a deeper, richer flavour. You found yourself when you let yourself rot down among the leaves and be born anew. Your bones picked clean and refreshed by this very land, your roots ever deeper grew.
You wish to help others find this within themselves, convinced if we all had this connection to our spaces, we would find ways through our problems with climate change, finding our roots, our centre.
You admit perhaps it may look different for others, they may find their salvation elsewhere. Maybe this is for you alone. Your own connection, your own space. Each to their own. Maybe this is the gift you bring to this world, profoundly you-flavoured, a gift no one else can share. Words meant to come from your mouth alone. By living it, you may inspire others to find their own path.
Find out more about Emma at https://www.emmaplover.com/. Words and photographs © Emma Plover.
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