The Hedge

The Hedge.

For hundreds of years the hedgerow has been there testament to natures ability to thrive against the odds. It is said that the number of species in a Hedgerow denotes its age, and so this one must be very ancient.

There are Blackthorn trees laden with Sloes, Brambles dripping with lush black berries, and Dog Roses with their bright red haws. And many species that I do not have the names for

Then my ears pick out the distant sound of a Horses hooves coming down the tarmac lane that shadows the hedgerow. I wait while the Horse comes nearer till it comes round the bend and to my delight it is pulling a caravan of the type that the Romany Gypsies used to use.

The caravan is driven by an old crone with pure white hair (although you can see that in her youth she was a great beauty) Come in, come in, she bids me and with a little trepidation I do as she bids.

Inside the caravan we  sit at her table while the tea brews and she gazes into my eyes. “So you want to be a Hedge-Druid” she says to me “Are you willing then to learn of the Spiritual Hedge  that separates this world and the one of spirit?”

As we take tea I ponder her words and eventually answer yes, “Then you have taken the first step” she replies. I think we have far to travel this crone and I.

Pan.