Witches Briar

A rose, by any other name...

Behold, the wild rose,

A face of purest white to softest pink,

At it’s heart, a golden sun.

This smile, so fragile and fleeting,

A beauty not meant to last.

Pretty petals,

Soon lost to Summer’s breeze.

(RCT, June 2016)

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(Photo taken in our back garden in North Yorkshire, June 2015.)

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The dog rose has been one of my favourites for longer than I can remember. All those soft pale hues of the delicate petal quintets. From the delight of seeing my first bloom bursting forth to witnessing the riotous gatherings of these blossoms all along the hedgerows, it’s always a delight. I know, then, that midsummer is nearly upon us, that pivotal moment in the wheel of the year.

Yet I’m aware these long summer days won’t last. Just like the rose, they will slowly fade, so I cherish them both while I can.

Weather permitting (and enough willpower to get out of bed in the middle of the night), I shall wander into the early light of Litha. There’s something quite special about getting out in the fresh early air. Listening to the dawn chorus as the sky slowly lightens is quite magickal, as if joining in on a communal ritual to welcome the coming Sunrise.

May you all have a blessed Solstice.

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