Having escaped any significant damage from Hurricane Arthur rolling through the area, I think it's a great time to talk a little about "storm magick" for lack of a better term. There's two different ways to incorporate the storm concept, using an actual storm, or mimicking/calling/drawing up similar energy of one. Either way, remember that this is mother Earth and father Sky coming together.
Storm magick is excellent for bringing about strong changes in your life, but as with storms, there are plenty of chances for things to get out of hand if not prepared, and even that's not a guarantee from harm or chaotic tangents!
A few months back, I wrote a column on books about the sea (or mermaids, to be exact). While digging through my library, it occurred to me that different columns for each of the traditional Elements might be a good idea. Just one problem: when I went looking for books on Air (and, by extension, wind and storms and so forth), I could find virtually nothing.
Sure, science books aimed at all ages are plentiful -- and I recommend some of the better written ones out there. The atmosphere is kind of important, after all. But books which deal with Air (and air and wind and atmosphere and so on) from a non-scientific point of view are few and far between. I could not find a single text written from an explicitly Pagan or polytheist perspective. So, I was left with lots and lots of science texts, some poetry, and a few mythological texts. And that's it.
It’s storm season. Storms have hit the UK this last week or so, and we’ve seen nightmarish weather conditions, high winds and flooding. People have died. Last year the lanes around Slimbridge, where I then lived, flooded such that some of them were impassable. We’ve been seeing a lot more of this, lately, especially in the winter months.
We stand in a circle beside the enormous maple branches that lie across the road, a sort of honor guard to a fallen land Wight. Claire, on whose lot the maple stands, greets each newcomer by name; Susan, who lives across the road and has a gas stove, offers coffee to folks without power.
Scarlett informs us, with a seven-year-old's precision, that the kids (seven at last count, though the number fluctuates as neighboring families walk or cycle past, witnessing our changed landscape) have collected ten earthworms. They've all been presented to us as holy offerings before being released back to the greater Mystery that is the rain-soaked boulevard. Summer has arrived with a bang.