On Brimstones & Ancient Etches

As September brings the first frost, the land & water reveal their wild magics

Welcome back to the wildwood, and to the rusty old mailbox overgrown with ivy. If this is the first time you have visited here then you may wish to open this invitation. In finding your way to All The Wild Magic I trust that you have arrived exactly when you were meant to. This letter is for you.

Dear reader,

It is night as I write to you. Tawny owls quail either side of the hut, so close that I wonder if I’ll be able to see them when I look out of the window. But there are only the silhouettes of trees against the midnight-dark of the sky, their branches thick with shadow-leaves. Owl and night are as one.

This wildwood has as many moods as the ocean, but tonight it feels settled and content, the plants nurturing the potential of their seeds in the wild garden. The window is open and I can hear the burn (do you use this word where you are? Here it means stream) rushing to be with the big river. If I close my eyes the sound could be heavy rain. If I listen for long enough, I start to hear the water’s language and how it speaks in many voices, whispering deep-time mysteries of vast sky and ocean, eel and moon; and perhaps of the old water deities who were once revered here; prehistoric rock art at the northern end of this woodland is proof that people inhabited this little valley thousands of years ago, far before even the Roman’s arrived with their pantheon of gods.

An illustration of the ancient rock art found at the north of the wildwood.

I often wonder at the meaning of these ancient patterns, which are repeated on stones across the north east of England. The concentric circles are a particularly common motif. When I look at them I see a mirroring of certain natural forms; water ripples known scientifically as capillary waves; the concentric rings inside a King Alfred’s Cake mushroom (a fungi which would surely have been highly prized by ancient people, since it is possible to make and carry fire within it); and the circular bands of light created by the phenomenon known as a Brocken Spectre. That we can never truly know what these symbols on stone meant to ancient peoples is part of what I love about them. The hands that etched them into rock reach through time and gift us with mystery. To me, this makes our own reality all the more magical.

Water ripples, inside a King Alfred's Cake mushroom, and a breathaking Brocken Spectre that I saw many years ago when at the top of Machu Picchu in Peru

A large moth taps against the outside of the window as it is glamoured by the lamplight inside. Early in the summer moths were scarce, but I thankfully noticed more of them later in the season. Moths are creatures that have a special place in my heart. I love the mystery of them, too: how they have such beautifully patterned wings even though so many of them fly in the dark. Winged sailors of the midnight sea, navigating by moon and starlight, much maligned and even feared by some despite their delicate beauty. It seems that those people who named the moths shared my enchantment with them: the Hebrew character and the emperor, the pebble hook-tip and the white ermine, the brimstone and the large emerald. Here is a brimstone I found on the path a few weeks back; a treat to behold, since they typically fly at night.

I am drinking a cup of elderberry tea mixed with some local honey as I write, the perfect tonic for the first cold nights that bring the promise of bonfires and pumpkins, cinnamon and apples. The elder is one of my favourite trees, and my next letter will be all about my recent visit to the Isle of Man where I researched its extensive folklore. There, in the native language of Manx, the elder is known as the Tramman.

What might the woodland’s mycelium be conjuring in the dark of the night? I have seen the first toadstools appearing, including this blusher beside a birch tree at the entrance to the hut’s garden. Have you been noticing any mushrooms where you are?

The hour is late, and it is time for sleep. I would love to find a message from you waiting in the mailbox over the days to come. What seasonal changes are you noticing where you are? How, if at all, have ancient peoples left their mark around the place where you live? I look forward to hearing from you.

With warmest wishes,

Sophie