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Halo Quin

~ Author, storyteller, witch

Tag Archives: story

Treelore: Rowan

27 Friday Nov 2020

Posted by Haloquin in Enchanted, Herbology, Magic, Poetry, Stories, Treelore

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Bardic, Druidry, Herbalism, learn witchcraft, Magic, ogham, Poetry, story, Treelore, Witch, witchcraft

Have you ever seen...
you must have!
That flash of flame
at water's edge.
Bird-loved berries 
burning delicate frame.
There was no hiding
from the heat
which so swiftly came.
And through the walls 
between the worlds,
I heard my name...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perched on the edge, their stick slender and strong beneath their hand, black cloak tattered along the edges by the winds, flame-haired Quickbeam watched over the traveller approaching the gate below.

“Why?” They called out. The traveller looked up, startled.

“Why what?” He replied.

“Why are you travelling?” Quickbeam clarified.

Quickbeam always asked, before unlocking that gate between the mountains. Only one reason sufficed, from any traveller, one and only one was acceptable; that they had a purpose. It didn’t matter which, as long as there was something. 

And there always was. 

To find healing, knowledge, adventure. To escape hardship, or success. To discover one’s self. To simply move and breathe and be. There was always a reason. And better, knew Quickbeam, if it were a guiding spark that offered hope when the going got tough. 

“I… I don’t know.” Replied the traveller.

Quickbeam grinned, beckoning him to sit upon the ledge beside them awhile, berry-tinted mead at the ready.

“Then you’d better stay with me until you do.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Latin Name: Sorbus aucuparia

Other Names: Mountain Ash, Quickbeam.

Edible: Berries contain vitamin C (dried or cooked, do not eat fresh berries.)

Herbal Properties: Astringent, Antirheumatic, Diuretic, Laxative, Antiscorbutic, Emmenagogue, Aperitive, Hypoglycemic. Used to treat for candidiasis, kidney disease, sore throat, period pains, diarrhea and hemorrhoids. Also reducing inflammation, especially of respiratory system, and increasing metabolism.

Contraindications: Avoid during pregnancy. Excessive use may cause vomiting, do not eat fresh berries. (Ask a professional before use… I am not a doctor!)

Magical Properties: Strongly protective, especially of the home. Rowan and red thread together are a traditional protective charm against magic and bad luck. Psychic power, divination and healing, an all-round magical booster. Creativity, success and transformation through its association with fire. Opens the gateway to otherworlds. The second tree in the Ogham tree alphabet. 

Historical Notes: There were often taboos against using the wood, or cutting it with a knife. Twigs were bound into an equal armed cross for protection woven with thread (Brigid’s Crosses), or used to divine for metals. Rowan berry jelly is traditionally eaten with game meats in Scotland, and the berries are used in various alcoholic drinks.

Physical Properties: Red berries have a pentagram on the base. The wood is resilient and its strength lends it to making good walking sticks. As the trees are small it is used accordingly, for handles, spindles and spinning wheels, traditionally. The bark and berries can make a black dye.

Clues for Identification: Clusters of flowers in spring, bright red berries in autumn. Leaflets in sets with pairs opposite each other and one at the tip (similar to ash). Small tree, can grow in silly places like cliff ledges.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Originally posted on Patreon. Thank you to my Patrons for your support! If you like what I write then please do consider supporting me as a Patron here. Your support means I can write more for you! And you get the posts early… *tempts*

You can also tip me via ko-fi, it all helps!

You can also Follow the blog, Share this post, and find me on Twitter to join in the conversation for free!

Over to you in the comments. Tell me why you’re travelling… And what do you know of the Quicksilver tree?

(Comments are moderated for spam so may take a day or two to appear.)

Treelore: Silver Birch

20 Friday Nov 2020

Posted by Haloquin in Herbology, Magic, Poetry, Starlore, Stories, Treelore

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Bardic, Birch, Druidry, learn witchcraft, Magic, OBOD, ogham, Ovate, poem, story, Treelore, Witch, witchcraft

birch leaves in sunlight
 Ghostlike,
 we begin.
 Skin stretched paper-thin,
 act two nears its end.
 A Wisp carried us here,
 a wind-wish winding 
 ever onwards,
 blown by whispered promises,
 secrets, 
 declarations
 of love and longing.
 We settled.
 Our roots are deep enough,
 nestling in blown soil,
 but leaves turn 
 and winter carries our wishes far from here. 
                                                                                                         ~ By Haloquin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Silver Birch, the tree of beginnings. First sign of the forest, carried by the wind, bright bark peeling and waiting for wishes to be inked on its curls. White lady watching over the keys to the otherworld, she keeps her counsel. Her footsteps across the threshold lead the way into lands beyond the everyday, wherever we wish to go, she has been there before. Her delicate fingers point the way, gusts whipping her pale green shawl about her shoulders as she turns back to her current craft, carving a love spoon to stir fresh flying ointment, bubbling over the bright fire.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Latin Name: Betula pendula

Edible: (In moderation) Sap can be made into syrup/wine, full of vitamins and minerals. Steep leaves in apple cider vinegar for a few weeks to extract nutrients. Buds are high in vitamin C.

Herbal Properties: Anti-inflammatory, astringent, laxative/stimulates digestive system, diuretic. Buds are antibiotic and diuretic. Steep leaves in water to make an astringent skin wash. 

Contraindications: Contains methyl salicylate, as in aspirin. Avoid if allergic to aspirin, using medications containing aspirin or blood thinning meds, if elderly, or have blood related issues. Use with caution if pregnant or nursing.

Magical Properties: Linked to the Norse rune Berkana and the Ogham letter Beith, beginnings, renewal, courage. Psychic protection from spirits or on (astral) journeys. Resilience. Love and fertility, particularly inception. 

Historical Notes: Once used to flavour chewing gum and soft drinks! 

Practical Properties: Pale wood, used in handicrafts, furniture making and to make paper, good kindling/tinder. Used to make besom brooms. Resin makes a waterproof glue. It grows fast, spread by the wind, and is a pioneer species, often one of the earliest trees to grow in an area, and one of the first to leaf in spring… A hardy tree, even though it appears fragile.

Clues for Identification: White birch that peels like paper in young trees, catkins in spring, small, smooth, triangular leaves with serrated edges, visually delicate branches. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Please consult a qualified herbalist if using medicinally, this information is shared for inspirational purposes only!)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Originally posted on Patreon. Thank you to my Patrons for your support! If you like what I write then please do consider supporting me as a Patron here. Your support means I can write more for you! And you get the posts early… *tempts*

You can also tip me via ko-fi, it all helps!

You can also Follow the blog, Share this post, and find me on Twitter to join in the conversation for free!

Over to you in the comments. Please share your tales of Silver Birch… your memories and imaginings… I’d love to hear them.

(Comments are moderated for spam so may take a day or two to appear.)

The Power of Story – WIP

03 Monday Sep 2012

Posted by Haloquin in Faery, Stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Beginnings, Faery, Imperfection, Philosophy, process, story, Strangeness of Life

This is a section of the first draft of something I’m working on currently…

***

Stories have power. We tell ourselves stories that allow us to do things and stories that hold us back. We listen to the stories of others and some part of the story influences us. A story of failure encourages us not to try. A story of success pushes us towards our dreams.

Let go of the stories that say you are not enough. Let go of the stories that hold you back from pursuing your dreams. Let go of the stories that you carry from childhood which make you feel small.

 

You are bigger than your stories, greater, more.

You are the storyteller of your life and you get to choose to be the hero at every moment.

 

As I sat crying under a tree one night a Jack-in-the-Green sat beside me, pointing to constellations of streetlights in the town stretched below us:

“Look how the humans have tried to copy the stars.” He smiled.

I think I argued, as though I didn’t find it strange to be greeted by a jack, that the lights were there to see by, not to copy the stars.

“What do you think stars are for?” He replied, leaving with the sound of church-bells.

 

The lights in our hearts are there to guide us, the stars of our soul show us the path to our dreams. Seek the stars in your soul. Seek the bigger story that carries you to the moon and leave behind the ones that weight you down.

The Silent Smile

06 Wednesday Jan 2010

Posted by Haloquin in Faery

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

fairies, fey, hope, joy, remembering, story

Once upon a time… for that is how all stories must start, although there is always something before, and so it is also how all stories must end… Once upon a time there was a maiden who lived near a deep dark forest, a maiden named Rose.

When Rose was very small she would slip away into the forest and come home with twigs tangled in her hair and a silent smile upon her face. Her mother would ask her why she loved the forest so, and she would simply smile and shake her head.

One day, however, a sad thing happened. Rose stopped going into the trees.

All children grow up, and it seemed not in the least bit strange that she ceased her wandering home with twigs and leaves and moss entwined in her locks, and instead would come home with red lips and green eyeshadow.

And so Rose grew up.

She married, and they moved into a little cottage by the forest, next door to her parents. Sometimes, though, her beloved husband would catch her gazing sadly out of the window into the dark green leaves, but she never said why.

One day little Rose, who was not so little now, was ironing, or washing, or cooking, or somesuch chore as adults have to do but that seem never to be finished, and she heard a voice from outside the window.

A voice calling… singing… laughing…

And she ran outside (and I cannot remember if the dinner burned or the washing was left undone, for it really doesn’t matter today) and there, disappearing into the forest was a half-forgotten figure, a slender girl as green as grass and as naked as a newborn, with sunlit hair and the shadow of wings on her shoulders.

And Rose, of course, followed.

She followed the green-girl through the trees and as her feet felt the forest floor for the first time in forever, she remembered why she used to smile as a child.

And the green-girl stopped, and turned, and smiled.

And disappeared.

And Rose returned to the cottage, several hours later, with twigs entwined in her unbound hair, earth between her toes, and a silent smile on her lips.

And every now and again, still, though her hair is now grey and her feet less sure, she will kick off her shoes, unbind her hair, and slip into the forest to find her silent smile.

Coursework

16 Thursday Apr 2009

Posted by Haloquin in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

freedom, moment, muse, souls, spirit, story, time

Brain whirs, click clicking like clockwork turned crazy.

Fingers find passages in the words whirling round and round and round, crafting thoughts into things that make sense, albeit only to the head that tipped them out, they fear.

Restless, the body breathes deeply. It feels like this is forever, for always and eternity. The body always only knows Now.

Meanwhile the Mind wrestles with itself, like untamed horse and whispering-rider both, the Mind both knows what must be done and longs to wander free.

The art of essay writing involves every part of the Self, even the distant dove, immanent and divine, watches patiently, singing; this too will pass… and the mind and body calm, lulled by the song of spirit, this is now, and there will be another now, and another. Lets live this now, craft this piece, and pass on, beyond, from moment to delicious moment, each a foundation for the next.

Do this now, the mind promises, and we shall be free later.

No, says Spirit softly from the stars, we are free now.

Story Charmer

22 Sunday Feb 2009

Posted by Haloquin in Stories

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

muse, story, writing

In the back of my mind, through the forest of thoughts, I catch glimpses of the story. Its shy, but longing to be shared, and though I can’t quite make out its shape occasionally, just for a moment, I catch sight of its colour.

Warm markings full of depth and glowing orange-red flash between the deep green leaves, like a goldfish in the ocean, dark and murky.

The story sneaks closer and I sit patiently, my pen flying across the paper while every other part of me is still. Waiting. Waiting for the story to lay itself down in the movement of ink, the flow of words across the crisp paper transforming potential into reality.

A new sheet

13 Tuesday Feb 2007

Posted by Haloquin in Stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

moment, story

Bottles of colour in hand, running down the stairs into the cold, cold snow, white like a clean sheet, a blank slate, a tabula rasa. What will these colours give rise to, give life to?

Confronted with the freshness, momentarilly stunned. Possibilities endless. Total freedom.

Clunk.

The first bottle loses its lid, and with it drops the hesitation…

Swoosh!

Swish!

Shooosh!

Colours fly through the air like liquid joy, staining the snow.

Arcs of rainbow inks pattern my world.

Later I watch from the window as snowballers scoop pink snow to throw, balling it up tight and puzzling over the green and blue and orange.

The snow melts slowly, dissolving deeper in the footprints.

As night falls the rain follows and washes my colours away.

And with the dawn a new sheet of snow sleets down to shower with rainbows again.

An Angel Wept

05 Thursday Oct 2006

Posted by Haloquin in Stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

moment, story

On a crystalline world not far from here an angel wept. Perched atop a small hill as tears flowed freely into her palms, sobs wrenched from her heart in great gasps that steamed in the crisp autumn air.

I watched my little girl from the window of our stable, she was the youngest of our children and the light of my older years. Now she seemed so far from my reach. I knew this would be a hard time for all of us, and dashed away the tears that fell from my own eyes and blurred the world into a quartz-like muddle.

At dinner we were strangely superficial. Topics bore no relevance to the pain lying in the next room. We avoided mention of the blossoming blood that would not go away no matter how many bandages were applied. We tried not to think of life once the nurses had finished their job, once there was no more reason for them to be here. The boys talked of their day at work, Angelica barely touched her food. And for once no-one complained.

I was with her at the end. I closed her eyes.

The world was becoming colder. Winter came closer and the house was quiet. My little angel, withdrawn from the day, refused to go to school. And I hadn’t the heart to make her. Mathew and Peter spoke to me about it once or twice, as I recall, but I didn’t really pay attention. After that, they took her each day, and I sat, waiting for her to come home safe, never quite believing that she wasn’t also gone for always, and never quite believing her mother wouldn’t bring her home anymore.

My whole being was empty, or perhaps filled with the waters of the Styx, dark and dreary and full of sorrow. Every day was an effort to rise and food, food no longer had any taste. I ate out of rote, but nothing more. Mathew, the eldest, eventually went back to his wife, I’m not sure when. And the house became quieter.

Angelica took to spending much of her time wandering on the hills, by the lake.

One stormy evening dusk fell and she hadn’t returned. This was the first moment I felt anything other than empty sorrow. Peter and I spent half the night searching for her, on the hills, through the forest. We combed the caves nearby, we swept the fields, now bereft of corn, and found no sign of her. As the moon rode high, the storm cleared and the stars turned in the sky, I circled the lake, and there, curled beneath a willow tree wrapped in her coat, my angel slept safely.

I carried her home.

The winter was hard for me. But it was harder on my little ones. I tried to fight for them, to stay, but the cold and damp had gotten into my lungs, my blood, and eventually the water and the winter claimed me.

And out on the frosty, crystalline hill, an angel wept.

The Truth

11 Monday Sep 2006

Posted by Haloquin in Stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

moment, story

Can you use logic to reveal the Truth?

We have a history of analytical thinking over half the world.
Are we any closer to The Truth?

We have many things that could logically be called true.
Does that make them Truth?

And, would finding The Truth really help us?
Would it make us happy? Would it guide us in how to live good lives?

How could it do that?

Why should it do that?

Would it matter if we found The Truth and it didn’t help us?

What would be the point in finding The Truth if it doesn’t help us practically?

Are all acts of logics simply solving logic puzzles… no more than games?

What is The Truth anyway?

Music written just for Me

11 Monday Sep 2006

Posted by Haloquin in Stories

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

moment, story

Music… Why is it we hear some music and it feels like it was written just for us? Like it speaks to us in a special way…
How can this songwriter from hundreds of miles away, that we’ve never met, capture our thoughts and feelings so perfectly?
It feels as though no-one else should feel this way, like a personal interchange between two like minds…
And slowly we remember that we have felt this way before… How is it that they can reach into our heart of hearts so often?
And the realisation dawns… Because these feelings aren’t new to us, they are felt by many people many times, and that’s how music touches us, it reminds us of what we all share, that we aren’t, as it feels, alone in our feelings…
Isn’t it nice to know we’re not unique in our unending attempts at emotional experiences.

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Meet Halo

Snow Pixie

Welcome to my world!

Halo Quin is an author, a storyteller, and a practicing witch with a lifelong relationship with the spirit realm (faeries, deities, and the primal powers of land, sea, and sky, specifically) who aims to share magic through experience. Halo lives in wild West Wales, right by the roiling sea, and loves to sing, dance, and otherwise enchant through performance. She also runs the local storytelling circle, and an ADHD resource centre, and ultimately encourages self-knowledge, self-acceptance, self-healing, and self-enchantment through everything she does... leading to:

Beauty ~ Magic ~ Delight

Re-enchanting the world, one story, one song, one spell, at a time.

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If you like my work, you can help with costs (and keep me fueled with tea & cake) with a tip via ko-fi, it all helps! Thank you!

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I'd love to hear from you! Email me at haloquin@gmail.com Or find me on Twitter!www.twitter.com/haloquin

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And for the over 18s… My alter-ego, Ms Quin, writes erotica, kinky poetry, on sacred sexuality and the like. You can explore some of Her writings and poetry readings, and find her sexy book of poetry via links at Twisted Ms Quin.

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