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~ The Cabin ~ ~ ~ ~


Someone might ask what my photography has to do with witchcraft. For me, taking pictures is so much more than a hobby. It's a pilgrimage. When my gypsy blood says it's time to move, I hear the call of the wind and must follow. I don't get it from anybody strange. My Irish ancestors were travelers. Great Grandfather leaving County Mayo for America, landed in the east but traveled every inch of this country. Romantic stories of the west sent one of his daughters to New Mexico, who finally landed in San Francisco and one of his sons, the sailor, berthed in San Diego and never came home. Then one of his granddaughters, my mother, married a flyboy and spent the best part of the 1950s in a car traveling from Air Base to Air Base - with me in the back seat.

The beauty of nature takes my breath away and everywhere I look, I see the mastery of the gods' artistry. People ask me where I get my profound sense of wonder. I ask them how they manage to not get one, with all the miraculous beauty that surrounds them. I don't even have to go far to find it. This is the view from my balcony.




Canvas

In my childhood,
there is a place
once seen through sleepy eyes
Where tall, slender trees
arched high branches
over a long lonely road.
And winter's setting sun
cast cool tendrils
of golden light
to lick rough edges
from fence and farmhouse
Painting this
gilt-edged memory


1986 Ardriana Cahill



Home* Introduction * Defining Terms* Book of Shadows* Book of Ritual
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