Wiccan Craft in the Woods
Taylor Creek Park
Wooden staff in hand, purple cord and tunic,
the caller summons us, “Oyay, Oyay!”
Norse metal rounds his neck,
his voice commanding and gentle.
We follow, tread soft
on grass, form a circle while a priest
cuts the space with a sword.
A witty one sweeps away malice
with a broom. We are spellbound.
The priestess, beauty-green, begins.
We turn to each direction—
fire, smoke, water, seeds—
all hail, “Blessed Be,”
Earth’s crust beneath our feet, roots
water and even deeper
rock, space, then fire.
Ponder: we are people
with trunks, limbs, branches, rings of age
who stand on earth and reach to sky.
Standing in the forest, we too are trees—
different in form but yet the same.
Author’s Bio
Kate Marshall Flaherty is published in journals such as Descant, CV2, FreeFall, and
Windsor Review. She was shortlisted for Nimrod’s Pablo Neruda Poetry Prize, the Malahat Review Long Poem Prize and Descant’s Best Canadian Poem. She lives in Toronto with her husband and three spirited children, where she guides yoga/retreats/writing workshops. Poetry is her lifeline.