Beltane
Who: truailligh ; open
What: Celebrating Bealltainn*
Where: Plaza near the gardens
When: May 1st, after nightfall
Note: * Scottish Gaelic spelling of Beltane
It had taken her far longer than she would have liked to find a spot suitable for this. If she'd been at home she'd always managed to make the trip to the Hill of Uisneach, something she'd done as long as she could remember and like Samhain, it had been one of the few times she could always remember feeling close to her mother. It had always been them, lighting two fires and once Shirley had been able to, she'd joined her mother in shifting her shape, celebrating when the veil between the two worlds was thin.
Eadar dà theine Bhealltainn, she thought to herself with a smile as she checked that the bonfires she dreamt into being were the same as the ones she remembered from her childhood and later years. She'd missed building them by hand but she wasn't about to do it on her own and there had been no one she'd wanted to ask and after all, she'd kept herself to herself after the past few weeks. That thing that had pretended to be Cassandra, that had petted her hair as she fell asleep and then she'd remembered waking with blood on her hands, the Otherworld self clawing to get loose and so she'd shut herself away in her place of solace, running her hands over all the surfaces, all the places she'd spent with Cassandra and Cedric and Blair.
A shiver passed down her spine as she hugged her arms about herself, two sprigs of juniper in one hand but soon it would be too hot for a coat once the fires were lit. She knelt, set the juniper boughs down and grabbed the dried moss she'd looked for along with the soft down of crow feathers that she'd found along with the kindling and set to work until it caught light. It would have been easier to do it the modern way but it didn't feel right, not when this day was so tied into what she was. The wood was dry too and the fires didn't take long to get going, the wood hissing and popping and she sat on the grass, one hand out and extended to a crow that flew down to her. She'd stopped questioning why the crows came on the days when the veil was stretched too thin and instead let it hop up to rest on her shoulder, sharp nails digging into her skin. She lost track of herself as she watched the fires grow until she finally rose, juniper in hand and she tossed the sprigs into the fires, walking through the gap between them, eyes shut.
Purification. That's what it meant for people who walked between the fires. She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands; the pentagram for Scáth on her right wrist, the horse shoe on the left for Cosaint and then at the evil eye on her right index finger for Truailligh. The crow cawed and she extended a pale hand to stroke over its head and down to its beak where it gave a light nip to her finger.
She sighed again, kneeling down on the grass to watch the fires burn until her eyes lost their focus.
What: Celebrating Bealltainn*
Where: Plaza near the gardens
When: May 1st, after nightfall
Note: * Scottish Gaelic spelling of Beltane
It had taken her far longer than she would have liked to find a spot suitable for this. If she'd been at home she'd always managed to make the trip to the Hill of Uisneach, something she'd done as long as she could remember and like Samhain, it had been one of the few times she could always remember feeling close to her mother. It had always been them, lighting two fires and once Shirley had been able to, she'd joined her mother in shifting her shape, celebrating when the veil between the two worlds was thin.
Eadar dà theine Bhealltainn, she thought to herself with a smile as she checked that the bonfires she dreamt into being were the same as the ones she remembered from her childhood and later years. She'd missed building them by hand but she wasn't about to do it on her own and there had been no one she'd wanted to ask and after all, she'd kept herself to herself after the past few weeks. That thing that had pretended to be Cassandra, that had petted her hair as she fell asleep and then she'd remembered waking with blood on her hands, the Otherworld self clawing to get loose and so she'd shut herself away in her place of solace, running her hands over all the surfaces, all the places she'd spent with Cassandra and Cedric and Blair.
A shiver passed down her spine as she hugged her arms about herself, two sprigs of juniper in one hand but soon it would be too hot for a coat once the fires were lit. She knelt, set the juniper boughs down and grabbed the dried moss she'd looked for along with the soft down of crow feathers that she'd found along with the kindling and set to work until it caught light. It would have been easier to do it the modern way but it didn't feel right, not when this day was so tied into what she was. The wood was dry too and the fires didn't take long to get going, the wood hissing and popping and she sat on the grass, one hand out and extended to a crow that flew down to her. She'd stopped questioning why the crows came on the days when the veil was stretched too thin and instead let it hop up to rest on her shoulder, sharp nails digging into her skin. She lost track of herself as she watched the fires grow until she finally rose, juniper in hand and she tossed the sprigs into the fires, walking through the gap between them, eyes shut.
Purification. That's what it meant for people who walked between the fires. She opened her eyes and looked down at her hands; the pentagram for Scáth on her right wrist, the horse shoe on the left for Cosaint and then at the evil eye on her right index finger for Truailligh. The crow cawed and she extended a pale hand to stroke over its head and down to its beak where it gave a light nip to her finger.
She sighed again, kneeling down on the grass to watch the fires burn until her eyes lost their focus.