The cabin I lived in for three weeks at summer camp in 2022 also housed a small nest of paper wasps beneath the trim outside the door. After a rest hour one day, as the campers were shuffling and the hum of noise on campus returned, my cabin mates and I witnessed something beautiful. The wasps had taken a rest too, and were now waking up. We watched them crawl slowly out of their nest and seem to pause in the light of the afternoon before flying off. They seemed almost sleepy. That day, any fears I had of wasps melted away.
One month earlier my father, brother, and I explored a lakeside trail. We stopped at a small beach and skipped stones. I found, laying on the sand, a deceased bumblebee. Its body was stiff and sideways to the ground. I didn’t know how long it had lay there, but I gathered a small collection of wildflowers and placed them around it. I spoke a short prayer asking no one in particular to protect this creature’s spirit. This was towards the start of my journey into witchcraft and folk magic.
Almost a year ago, Althea Davis posted a poem titled “Kinder Than Man” to Instagram. The poem is a prayer for all the animals that are killed by human apathy. Since reading this poem, I’ve thought about it at least weekly. This poem, to me, is a reminder that all living and nonliving things on Earth are connected. That we as humans have so much to learn from the Land and its creatures. That we have a responsibility to that Land and its creatures to do better.
Pictures by me from the Winter Solstice of 2023.
I am experiencing a lot of emotions about how this view of rivers, streams, and brooks, is reminiscent of veins, venules, and capillaries. Something about the macrocosm and microcosm being mirrors. Something about the Earth as a living, breathing mother. Something about animism. Something about tree rings and fingerprints, irises and nebulas, body hair and grasses, acne and the moon's craters, and stretch marks and tree bark. Something about divinity.