Tag Archives: cherry tree

Anna Krajewksi Photography

3 May

One of those rare occasions to have my photo taken (see last time). This time artist/photographer Anna Krajewski caught the moment with her Nikon camera. I like the result, the natural sunlight permeating through a dark roof of leaves tracing my silhouette. The other capture shows me bowing and lighting a candle before a flowering cherry tree, before gathering a handful of blossoms.

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Sakura Whispers

8 Apr

Path of petals

Japanese Pavilion

Sakura Whispers

Dresden blue hour

Favorite time of day, dim light, overcast sky. New camera and lens. Minimal editing.

Sakura Dream

14 Jul

Sakura Dream Seal

It is the ghost hour. Outside it has been raining all night. Window tilted, I am sitting on my desk, listening to the rain drops, hitting summer green leaves, the warm asphalt of the road, the stone of my window bench. The air smells of chlorophyll. In front of me is an empty glass bowl and a half-filled bottle, which emits an intoxicating scent, when opened. I should be in bed, as I have slept little, but instead my mind is on fire. I had to compose this incense blend, inspired by a dream I once had…

In this dream I am flying on a magic carpet. It is a warm sunny day. Using the upwind, I can speed up my flight, enjoying the slopes and turns, as tender petals of cherry blossoms softly brush my face. Mesmerized, I am riding through a cloud of white and pink and I want to freeze this moment. For the break of a second it becomes eternity, only to be carried away and onward. I can steer the carpet momentarily, but I cannot influence, where the journey is heading. We go higher, over hills and I observe the landscape from a bird’s eye view. In front of me are unfolding endless fields of blue lavender bushes. Then I am taken to an abandoned landscape garden, filled with fragrant roses. Someone is here, but before I can find out what is happening, I am gone. Then I find myself in an urban surrounding, my feet on the ground. I recognize the place, it is close to where I lived and regularly walked up and down the road, on which is bordering a graveyard. Just seconds before, I had been chasing down that steep hill with my magic carpet. Now I am at this noisy street. Here I meet the dead. A satisfied expression, a pile of documents in hands, a smiling face, communicate all I need to know. And that is it.

Sometimes the dead are very busy people. Other times all that is left of their souls are the tender sakura blossoms… For me remains the memory of a most wondrous dream flight.

Winter Walk: Sacred Thorn Grove, January’s Mysteries and the Bloody Tears of the Cherry Tree Sisters

14 Jan

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Steady-paced I walk up the hill. The air is pleasantly cold. It clears the mind and disperses my headache. I am not freezing. The road I’m walking up is called Am Kirschberg, literally meaning “by the cherry mountain”. The field to the left is covered with a thin layer of snow. The dark frozen soil is sticking out of the white. Ploughing traces create zen like, eye-dazzling patterns. At the end of the long stretched field the view is clearing up towards town. Over the horizon line a narrow golden band illuminates the sky. Above me are grey clouds. I am planning on a short walk, but my legs carry me in a different direction…

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Atop a stone wall by the castle, I find the wormwood has not entirely fallen victim to the frost. Next to fading foliage, fresh silvery green leaves are sprouting forth. I gather a few of them, enough for a small winter herb bundle to hang up at home. When dried, it will empower necromantic incense blends. Looking across the river valley, remnants of snow are showing between leafless trees and dark rocks. The sky is an eyeful and I would enjoy the silence, if it wasn’t for cars flashing past on a mint-green autobahn bridge.

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The Thorn Grove in Winter

The way down is frozen over and I hold onto the rusty handrail in order to not slip and fall. People coming my way do not greet me and I do not greet them either. Halfway down the hill, I arrive at the thorn grove. The path up there leads through leafless hawthorn trees growing in all directions. A jay sitting in the branches looks at me but does not fly off. Cautiously I venture on. The ground is muddy and slippery. Most of the snow at this side of the hill has melted. By the rocks I find another wormwood plant and spot a bird’s nest near where the jay had been. I am looking around, breathing the fresh winter air, trying to focus my myopic eyes on the distance. I think of none. It is a good place for the soul.

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Above, the hawthorn thicket is overgrown by raspberry and wild rose. To the right there are young blackthorn shrubs. Their thorns are long and sharp. The young twigs are flexible and make the best thorn-crowns. Further uphill, there is another areal of high-grown hawthorn trees, partly covered in ivy. It’s bordering at a property and the allotment gardens are close. One is likely to meet passersby here. But a magician knows to use the gaps and at night the place is dead silent. Today, however, I am only a passerby myself.

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A Thin White Veil upon the Field

I’m on my way home, stopping now and then, intrigued by the formations of clouds and the golden light of the sun further afar. A skein of geese is on its way southwards. Passing by wild cherry trees lining the field, I search their stems for resin and at last find a group of three tall and slender trees, the base dripping with soft, blood-red gum. I memorize the spot and proceed, faster now. I have to watch my steps. The trail is akin to an ice rink.

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At the birch tree, I stop once more. From here the field looks softer…

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The birch is a pioneer, a tree of new beginnings and the first to come back after complete devastation. The birch profits from death and desolation, but it also paves the way for others to follow and thrive. Beith is for birch, the tree of January, the door opener.

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Remnants of snow on the barren field, remind of the birch’s torn bark. It starts raining and continues to do so. The next day the snow will be gone.

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The Blood-Red Resin Tears of the Cherry Tree Sisters

Returning to the cherry trees, the resin is moist from the rain water and easy to scrap off. I collect a jar full, which I later place on the heat. The resin dries and hardens quickly. In its soft state it is sticky and a yellow golden color. It smells remotely of ripe cherries and of caramel, when burnt. In German it is also known as Katzengold, literally “cat’s gold”, and used for sweetening cough tea. In my worship, I employ the dark red resin tears for Naamah and other female entities. In their harvest, take care to not take everything and leave some behind for the spirits, along with offerings for the guardians of the trees. Physical gifts are symbolical and in order, but they count none without respect and patience. The latter are the true sacrifice. The trees will remember your signature and recognize you next time you approach them.

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I am thankful. The thought had crossed my mind to scar the trees in order to gather their resin. But I have not done so. Therefor I am blessed.

Concerning the Wood Wide Webhttp://www.bbc.com/earth/story/20141111-plants-have-a-hidden-internet

Gallery

Fall

22 Nov