In the dance of waxing and waning, I am enjoying this waxing moment in the wheel of the year. The moon, a blue May moon, has been moving towards full – reaching it today. We are within three weeks of the summer solstice.
For me the energy has been palpable, even on the days when I was personally fatigued by high temperatures. Plants offered images of this energy, by bursting into full colour – lavender above, poppies and daisies below: power along with beauty.
On one of the long hot evenings, I took a picture some of the birches planted outside our building. They are getting stronger and, in this season more verdant. Five together are beginning to feel like a miniature grove. Features like these help to make urban Druidry easier. On the same evening I also photographed the waxing gibbous moon. It seemed apt, and resonant with the energy I was experiencing from the sun and on the earth around me.
Yesterday evening I went to my local park and was struck by changes in the trees. I seemed to have walked into a premature autumn. Trees were shedding leaves. To me, the trees in the picture above appeared distressed. Looking at them again now, I wonder about disease as well as simple unseasonal shedding.
In the park, I found beauty too, with new colours becoming manifest. In my part of the world, the latter part of August has always included intimations of Autumn. But 2025 feels unusually dramatic and unusually early. Some trees, like the horse chestnut below, seem to be shedding their leaves particularly fast.
Other trees seemed to be weathering this period more easily, like these medlars now bearing their fruit – bringing autumn into August in an apparently unstressed way.
Standing back, I could see new patterns in the no longer quite so green Greenwood. They illustrate new conditions and are, for better or worse, harbingers of a new time. There will be more changes. I hope that the trees will continue to adapt and stay in place for many years to come. But nothing is certain, in this time of climate crisis and the rise of willed ignorance about its severity.
The sunsets continue to get earlier. I walked into one as I left the park. The sun asserted it’s power in a late stage of its descent. It’s been a hot summer as well as a dry one. I took this powerful, almost too powerful, late summer solar image with me as I walked back to my home.
Where I live, late summer is often the warmest time of year, and the driest. This is likely to be the case in 2025, already a warm dry year. But in the sun’s apparent annual journey, it is also a time of waning. Sunrise is an hour later than at the solstice, and sunset is forty-five minutes earlier. This change will accelerate from now on.
I do not see waning as negative. There is power and beauty in this ‘waning’. In the rowan (aka mountain ash) picture above, the berries are moving from tentative orange to bright scarlet, an effect of the seasonal changes in the light. Rowan is an ogham tree, linking a group of indigenous Irish and British trees to an ancient Irish alphabet. Its Gaelic name luis means bright or flame.
Looking at the year as a whole, some of the berries will still be holding on beyond midwinter, by which time the tree, which can live for up to 200 years, will be making its annual comeback. At that time, as described in William Anderson’s justly venerated in Green Man poem (1):
The hungry birds harry the last berries of rowan
But white is her bark in the darkness of rain
‘I rise with the sap’, says the Green Man
‘I rise with the sap’ says he. (1)
The resilience of the tree runs throughout its year and lifetime. In late summer specifially, this resilience is manifested in berries at their brightest, against the backdrop of a still blue evening sky.
Traditionally Rowan has strong associations with protection, spiritual protection not least. According to The Green Man Tree Oracle (2), ‘it can also offer insight into danger through the invocation of higher wisdom’. Ancient Druid shamans were said to breathe in the smoke from rowan fires to initiate a trance state that allowed them to predict coming danger.
The Druids also planted rowan, as well as oak and ash, in their sacred groves. But Celtic Druids were not the only people to place a high value on the rowan tree. Our modern word rowan is probably descended from the Norse runas – narrowly translated as ‘charm’ but in fact bringing the wider runic and Norse traditions with it.
When I encountered the rowan I was strongly moved by it. It stood out from everything else. I had previously decided not to take pictures on my walk, but felt compelled to change my mind. I didn’t need ancient lore to feel more alert and heartened. It’s just that the framing it provides added cultural depth. The encounter with rowan put a spring in my step and was a highlight of my evening.
(1) William Anderson Green Man: archetype of our oneness with the Earth Harper Collins: London & San Francisco, 1990
(2) John Matthews & Will Worthington The Green Man Tree Oracle: ancient wisdom from the greenwood London: Connections, 2003
I see change in a familiar scene. Looking out from our apartment I contemplate a gentle twilight. It is modified by artificial light. During the recent heatwave I somehow had little consciousness of this moment in the day. But now, with lower temperatures and rain, my world is a tiny bit different. I discover myself in a twilit scene, and a twilight frame of mind, a little after sunset.
Although this sunset is only ten minutes earlier than the sunsets of the Solstice period, I feel, deep within me, the turning of the Wheel. It’s as if I am leaning in to the spirit of late summer, and the first of the harvest festivals that define the waning year. We are not there yet, though Lammas is but a fortnight away. I am simply becoming aware of a coming seasonal shift.
I am also aware of wanting to savour the sense of a change without wanting to hurry it on. Above, an image of trees, houses, hills and sky anchors me into a specific place and time. It’s a ‘now’ experience rather than an anticipation. Below, an image of birch leaves back-lit by electric light holds me in an appreciation of the pattern they make. I am held by the power of a simple pleasure.
It is a little after 7 pm, and the mellowing evening of a hot day. The sky is clear. On 12 July, there are still nearly two and a half hours before sunset. It is about 31C/87.8F with a light breeze. Elaine and I feel comfortable enough to go for a walk in town.
We start quietly in our own neighbourhood. We are, we think, towards the end of a hot period that peaked at 35C/95F. This counts as serious heat in England. For several days, we have been staying indoors for much of the day. There have been quick forays in the mornings, mostly to an air conditioned shopping centre nearby.
We needed to get out at the first opportunity. We are rewarded, in this evening, by a freshness grown unfamiliar, and by powerful contrasts of light and shade as seen in the priory ruins below.
To leave our Greyfriars estate, we walk down a narrow lane that separates a pub from a church. We enter Southgate Street in the old town through an archway. Entering the street, we are conscious again of vivid blue sky, and the mix of sunlight and shadow. The street is hardly crowded, but it is certainly peopled on this warm summer evening.
At this stage we are not sure of our destination. We just want to be free and mobile and outdoors. We decide to turn right. Soon we will be reaching the cross roads at the centre of the old town. If we turn left, we will find ourselves in Westgate Street*, with the Cathedral Close (College Green) as our likely destination.
Gloucester Cathedral, and in particular College Green, are a friendly space for us. It is still the dominant set of buildings in the town centre, just a little set apart from the shopping streets. Often a busy place, it is also a contemplative one. As we sit there enjoying the opportunity to be out, we notice that the temperature is cooling as we move towards 8 pm.
Eventually we decide to return home, leaving College Green through another alley, this one a location for shops and restaurants. It’s been a nurturing time in the high summer city.
When Gloucester was first established by the Romans in 97 AD as Colonia Glevum, it was built as a walled city with gates in each of the four cardinal directions. Hence the streets Eastgate, Southgate, Westgate and Northgate. I believe that Aethelflaed, Lady of Mercia, brought the street names back into use in their English form whilst based in Gloucester round about 900 AD.
I took the picture above at 8.35 pm on 2 July, a little less than an hour before sunset. The dial still hasn’t moved much since the Solstice. The days are still long and warm. The sky this evening is blue and clear. Sunlight plays in the trees. It is good to be here, now, and alive to this moment.
The moon, below, has reached its first quarter. The Anglo-Saxons called the July moon the Hay Moon. Celts called it, variously, the Claiming Moon, Mead Moon or Herb Moon. North American traditions speak of the Buck Moon and the Thunder Moon.
For me, contemplating this moon at its first quarter, it seems like empty potential and not ready for a name. There’s a sense of mystery here. I stand with that mystery as my world moves towards a high summer sunset.
It’s a warm afternoon. The sun is strong. The park is parched. I could do with some moments of shelter. I walk towards a welcome willow tree.
I feel different under the tree’s lush canopy, as if in a benignly altered world. Its sturdy trunk upholds this precious space, embracing both light and shade. Although this space is small, I experience, here, more variety than in the expanse of park immediately surrounding it.
For awhile I cling to the cool softness of this world within the tree, feeling as well as seeing what the branches and leaves of a weeping willow can do. A taste of Nature’s magic. Then I return to the world of the park.
Early this morning I sat in contemplation of some geraniums in pots, for me a good Druid focus of attention. Purchased and tended by my wife Elaine, who is now mobile and active once more, they shone in the early morning light. This was about 6.45 am, some two hours after dawn, on 19 June. It is two days before the Solstice. Where did the time go?
I notice how my eye is drawn to plants and light effects. I find them nourishing and enabling. This has been a theme in my life for awhile. It is though sunlight and the plant world offer hope and reassurance in a bleak, shocking and disorienting historical moment. Life insists on flourishing. I can insist on flourishing too. I am not distracted from the wider world but resourced to engage with it.
On a convenient lamp post, the seagull seeks an opportunity. This midsummer world is alive.
The garden in Gloucester Cathedral’s close is currently a magnificent riot. I was on a walk there with Elaine and we particularly noticed two powerful seeming plants that we couldn’t identify. We simply sat with them, unnamed, and bathed in their energy. It was a glorious 1 June, the first day of our official meteorological summer, and one to savour and enjoy. Only later did we do any research.
We are fairly sure that the plant above is yellow archangel and the plant below, looking like a giant thistle, is cardoon (canara cardunculus) aka prickly artichoke. Friendly feedback from readers on these identifications is welcome. If we are right both plants have long been recognised as sources of power and healing.
In our older traditions, yellow archangel was a symbol of harmony between flora and fauna. A custodian of wildlife, it fostered a bond that transcends mere survival. Herbalists still use this plant to relieve gout, sciatica and other pains of the joints and sinews. It has also been used to draw out splinters and thorns, clean and heal persistent sores, and to dissolve tumours. Yellow archangel can be used as food, in salads, soups and teas. In the wheel of our year, yellow archangel flowers fully after the bluebells die away.
Cardoon is also a plant of power. Traditionally associated with Mars, it has the virtues of strength, protection and abundance. It is has been credited with the power to ward off evil spirits. It is also connected to ideas of nourishment, the riches of nature and, latterly, sustainable gardening. The plant can grow to 2.5 metres in height. Its thick stalks are used as a vegetable. Its full flowering is in late summer and autumn, with thistle-like purple flowers.
These plants, in this garden, are a celebration of values as well as of nature and healing. I see our world through the lens of Modern Druidry and Paganism. The custodians of this space will have a Christian lens. I am happy to note that in this context they seem to be much the same. When in this space, I feel that I am in a beautiful and energising oasis in the city.
Contemplative Inquiry 