July 2011
Guess who forgot all about the homemade strawberry syrup with crème de cassis?
Fuck! I actually have video of the same exact thing (from one of last year’s early morning roadkill sweeps), but I can’t seem to find the fucking clip on Flickr! (<- It must be buried in one of my “TO EFFING EDIT!” desktop folders.) But, dude, yes! It was glorious watching the fox trot through the misty meadow without a care in the motherfucking world
When I was old enough to leave home and spend hours exploring local hedges, marshes and woodlands it was a fox that welcomed my presence outdoors. While harvesting water mint and wild roses I noticed a small dog casually sauntering through the overgrown hedge in my direction. Just before it passed me - making no effort to put any distance between us - we spent a long second studying one another, and then it suddenly scampered off. Seconds later a woman on a horse appeared (a farm backed into the woods, so the family often rode through the woodland trails) and asked if I had seen a fox; it was only then I realize why the “dog” had yellow eyes.
It wasn’t initiation, it was an invitation (if that makes sense). I wouldn’t say that the fox is my spirit animal or familiar, but it does act like a link between me and the land, and its habits and qualities (both positive and negative) represent a part of me that I need to keep balanced.
Hope that answers your question, sweetheart. XO.
I’m already desperate for cupboard space and I’ve only worked with one local fruit this year. There’s no way around it; I’ve got to sell off my collection of beautifully aged hedgerow hooch to make room for this year’s projects (which include: strawberries, bilberries, raspberries, blackberries, elderberries, gooseberries, wild cherries, rose hips, rowan berries and hawthorn berries).
Since most of the fruit liqueurs use a non-Smirnoff vodka as a base Italics can’t enjoy them, so there’s no point sitting on the collection any longer. I’m reluctant to let them go (most of them are the first I ever made), but, fuck, I totally need space for new shit RIGHT EFFING NOW. If I decant some of my hedgerow hooch, provide stories about the fruit used and dress up the 100ml bottles all Ms. Dirty-style (see Bones, Twine & Feathers) would any of you (non-minors) be interested in purchasing some of this maenad’s mood-enhancing magic?
Oh, sugar. You’re going to need a good sativa (I recommend Kali Mist; it’s got a happy laid-back vibe), a pot of honey-sweetened kratom tea (roughly 1/4 tsp per mug) and several episodes of The Joy of Painting (extra points if Bob ruins another painting by slapping a tree over 1/5 of the canvas). Alternatively, you could plant one on the Devil’s ass, although I think that’s probably how you got in trouble in the first place, *winks*. Failing that, make sure you rehydrate yourself properly and that your broom’s been properly sanitized for ~next time~. XO.
Thanks for reblogging this shit for me, sweetheart, you’re a mothereffin’ star! XO.
P.S. TO ALL OF TUMBLR: I know it might sound hella lame, but I really appreciate the fact that the majority of you guys have been amazingly respect about reblogging my roadkill entries. In the three years I’ve been terrorizing Tumblr there’s only been one or two incidents that made me seriously reconsider sharing my photos and stories publicly, and I know that the smooth sailing record is due to you guys actually giving a fuck. So, like, thanks for giving a fuck. <3!
Let’s face it, Tumblr, I give you a lot. I give you a front-fucking-row intimate view of my life, I share my most special, most profound experiences, I confess my secret fears and wild hopes to you and all I ask in return is one goddamn thing: if you reblog any of my roadkill pictures please keep…