Mj Pettengill

"Who knows the fate of little August? The Lord knows. And be prepared to accept that his mother will not return."

Often, we sense the presence of the ancient ones through the subtle movement of trees, birds, animals, and plants.

There were many children like August and Billy. Where are they now?

If I witness the death of a thousand trees, did it really happen? Does it matter?

May the little ones be mothered, as they should be, and all of us raised up from the deeps, Amen.

Trust the angels, Dad. They are here to help you.

The time has come to shelter deep within the earthen womb of Our Mother.

When I am in the void, I welcome it. Imagine the ocean. Without the dip between the waves, they would cease to exist.

I do not understand why some people purchase the forest only to kill the trees.

Going way back, in dreams of wooded hills and endless children’s laughter, they wait, stories begging to be remembered.

She is on her own, free to make the journey to warm, sunny Mexico. I wish her well.

We must wait until the time is right, not too soon or too late, to break out of the chrysalis—

I use ground pine needles in addition to, or in place of, flour in some recipes, creating healthy, mouthwatering delights.

New England Aster blossoms are perfect in my apothecary in tea and tincture form.

In bird time, it was equal to a half hour; in real-time, it was about thirty seconds.

She was an angel who appeared at the right time.

We must take the time to comprehend the consequences of our actions, both good and bad.

As a perennial hermitess, this is bearable— even preferable—but the time has come to emerge from the cocoon.

The stems of the elderberries look like lungs.

Do you know what a foundling is?