“No fear have I of Mother Earth; no dread, Of roots; the hidden sources of the seed. Those beauteous blossoms ranged in a bed, Of that damp underworld have primal need. Upon its chilly moist and dew they're fed. Till in due season on their stalks they speed, Upwards with many a variegated head, Of… Continue reading Marigold, the Shrub of Bealtaine
''Is mise neantógI haven't always been understoodI have stung you to sustain myselfUnderneath the skin that protects meIs so much nourishment and medicineI grow so abundantly in harsh conditionsAlthough often overlookedI offer myself unconditionally to the worldIs mise neantógI have nourished the people's since time began''. It's that time of year again... Where the Nettle… Continue reading Grasp the Nettle – Greim ar an Neantóg.