Graveyard Dirt: Two Worlds and In-between

Seashells and Rowan Berries

Click thumbnail for larger image.

Yesterday I sat in front of the backroom's patio door while working on unfinished projects, soaking up the early Spring sun as middle eastern music and cheap ass lemongrass scented incense filled the warm, comfortable silence. (I don't meditate; I'm too high strung. I can appreciate the calming loss of reality, though, through repetitive movements like popping dried rowan berries off their stems and into a crystal vase.)

My geranium pile? Sorted. (I separated the stems from the leaf heads, and bundled the tiny sticks together. Both dried parts ended up in the same jar because it seemed like a shame to throw out the stems since they're as fragrant as the lemon rose scented leaves.)

Dried clusters of rowan berries? Sorted. (I snapped off every fucking viable berry into a vase - only accidentally knocking it over once (see the picture above) - and transferred the lot into another jar. The remains - unsightly berries and brittle, empty stems - were added to our burning pile.)

(Since we can't compost we ritually burn things and I incorporate the ash into our spiritual lives - sometimes we scatter the remains at sacred sites as offerings, other times I use it as fertilizer for our plants and around this time of year I use it to create a paste to anoint our bodies and bed frame for purification as late Winter turns into early Spring.)

The limpet shells? Next in line to get sorted. (We collected them two days ago when beachcombing a little cove next to Dunnottar castle. That story? Requires an entirely new entry; stay tuned.)