You gift me a vision of the summerlands,
friendship and apple tree cuttings.
I come to know your land,
as you shall come to know mine
in summer tales of transformation.
I shall shape my words without nervousness
and fear of derision amongst
very small creatures;
plants that tower, battling wasps
and settlements of stones large as houses.
I shall converse with people of petals,
wriggle down with the earth worm
into his hole, chew wood
in a beetle’s palace
and arise antlered with a flick of wings.
When the moon descends huge and full
I shall hitch a ride with a lady-bug,
evading counting fingers
from windowsill to forbidden leaf
collect together all the hidden conversations.
I shall make a story-book
from the troubles of the ancestors,
written in my insect’s blood on filmy wings,
keep it safe within a house of leaves
until the season becomes propitious.
As the summer stars wink out
I shall drown myself in a dew drop
to stand again within your hall
with tales of another world,
*Poem written after a journeying to our muses to ask for guidance about a summer project at The Way of the Buzzard drumming circle. I spoke with Gwyn ap Nudd and found out, in return for a glimpse of the Summerlands during a visit to Glastonbury, he wants to hear some stories about summer where I live in Lancashire, particularly those featuring transformation. This has given me a little more insight into the nature of reciprocity between humans and the gods, and this world and the Otherworld.