Sacred.  Rowan in Coffin Wood – Dartmoor.    Snap a photograph – not snap off!

Inspired while under a Dartmoor tree.

Besides picking up an odd stick for keeps – or even gathering a few twigs to take home as kindling for the woodburner – I’m sometimes tempted to break-off a token sprig from a living tree, not because I want to do harm, but for decoration – to put in a vase for the kitchen table.  Rowan, Elder, Blackthorn, and Hawthorn are favourites – and are especially beautiful in the Autumn – when they are laden with irresistible ripe berries.  I never do though; superstition and something from within the tree – and myself – acts as a barrier. And anyway, the transience of nature’s bounty can only be preserved if it has been fused with sugar and turned to wine – or jam!  With my own alchemy to hand – I decided to create my own small boughs – so that I could bring the outside in all-year-round – and no harm done.

In reverence of trees.   Elder, Rowan and Hawthorn. . .

and Blackthorn.