She was born from the groaning moan of a wind-blown tree in the dead stillness of winter. There was a hush all around as crystalline snowflakes silently fell to the ground. For she was born a winter fairy you see, born into the quite surrounds and the auspiciousness of the season, amongst the crackling light of a well-lit hearth, and the twinkles of strands of lights. The sounds of hymns were being sung in the distance and hooded, cloaked mystics swinging censers of smoke blessing the birth of the holy ones in the season of the North. They came to her then following along the earth-lined path of energy that led straight to her guided by the Witch Star and laden with gifts. The queens of old, her ancestors and all of the crones, they crowded around her purple lined room with her not even two, bearing gifts more precious than gold. The first whispered into her ear “this is the gift of feminine might, study it well child, read every strong willed women’s bibliography you can lay hands on, question the word of the men who speak for your father’s so called God, and know what it is to be strong. This is my gift to you and so it is.” The girl stirred gently from her sleep to smile up and then curled again beneath the blankets and began to dream of battle cries and the pounding drums of her ancestors of old and their heathen calls. The second queen began to sing as she knelt close a sickly sweet hymn of the gift she gave as it began to fall from her lips; “moon of magic, moon of might, moon of wonder burning bright guide her with thy perfect light.” As she crooned to the child the child entered the dream scape and saw a blond flowing figure who said to her “child of the Earth, born one sovereign night, wild one who came upon the witching hour, know the power of your feminine might, but take upon you also the gift of gnosis, of moon magic, and of deep commune. Look for me when you are ready for you shall see a glowing moon flower and it will lead you to the light, until that day, worship the moon and run free child. And so it shall be.” The little girl stirred slightly as the cedar bushes made scratching, clawing sounds and screeched along her window pane until she felt a warmth come over her and she sunk back down. The third and final gift came from a grandmother that she would never know and hand-made it was a silk edged blanket, as comfort was the gift given so that even in her loneliest hours and deepest darkest moments she would be able to curl under the warmth of it and know that she is loved. They left her then blessed by their gifts to learn and grow, to climb trees and fly free until her initiation into the wild unknown, until it was her time to claim her throne. And so it is.
By: Tara Nordstrom