Sometimes I wish I lived in the UK so I could do visit the places of my Gods and ancestors.

But I’m in Australia, so I will live out my dreams and aspirations (for the time being) through the writings and blogs of those I admire.

As I’m unable to re-blog from Damh the Bard‘s blog, here’s a snippet with the link. So jealous. So completely jealous.

I’ll get there one day.

A Pilgrimage to Herne’s Forest

The tree had lived for at least 600 years having fallen from its parent as an acorn whilst England was in the grip of the Black Death. It knew the land before combustion engines when all around was silent, but for the falling hooves of passing horses. It had seen peace, and it had tasted blood when many fell around it during the English Civil War. It might not have known Herne’s Oak, but it stood within the same ancient forest, and its parent tree would have stood, tall and wise, as Herne’s Oak fed from the same sunlight, only a mile or so away. There were other trees around it that had been brought here and planted by wildlife – the offspring of Herne’s Oak stood all around.

The men had driven for about 2 hours and parked the car, getting out and stretching their legs in the warmth of the early Spring day. Their rucksacks packed with hot water and tea they stepped over the stile, and into the countryside.

“Shall we form a circle and get in touch with our intent?” one asked.

Read more at ‘A Pilgrimage to Herne’s Forest’ by Damh the Bard…