Rhiannon

By Carole Weave-Lane

Upon a moonbeam the Goddess Rhiannon

Stood upon the wings of birdsong

Enchanting the rocks in the mountain to part

Liberating the wild herd

Silver flanks and manes flyin’

Hooves that pounded with ghostly precision

Silver on the wind

 

Wild  their eyes, tails broomstick stiff

Frothing at the mouth,

Galloping down the mountain side

Through the hamlet of sightless dreamers

Snorting sea spray in the wind

Silver on the wind.

 

Padding on the black rocks so sharp

Leaping into oblivion

Captured by the seas so wild

 a cauldron of seething ribbons

As  Rhiannon flew amongst them

 

Drifting upon birdsong

Becoming one with the herd

All in perfect motion

riding on the waves

With haste the birds did rise, their wings all a flutter

– winging north where magic beams

Silver on the wind

 

 Fae, the Goddess Rhiannon

who magicked a Portal ‘ere so wide,

so the mists would engulf them

With haste the wild horses did whinny

sweet sounds of joy de vivre

leaping boldly with perfect sequaciousness

silver on the wind.

 


C Weave-Lane, The Hidden Parchment 2011 (copyright)

Photo from the works of Aria Amanda Hannam, March 2021, used with permission.


About the author:

I live in Perth, Western Australia by the Swan River in an old home with two cats–one is Dumbledore, the other Salem. Also, Storm the female Doberman. I spend a lot of time in our huge garden beloved by two ravens and walking by the Swan River and in the Wetlands. This is where I create and dream–thus, my stories reflect this.

I have been an English teacher most of my life, transferring to Natural Therapies and Past Lives. Now in my later years, I write stories. My first one, The Hidden Parchment, was set in Bournemouth, Dorset, Cornwall, Ireland, and a little in Glastonbury (Avalon), and Rhiannon was a part of it. The Mists of Avalon led me to Glastonbury when I was living in the UK, where my daughter was born, and my passion for the Tor has remained with me, and I see Gynnn Ap Nudd sitting upon a rock, guarding the entrance to the Fey. Weave is my craft name, and it fits as I love to weave and create. Blessings on your day.

Similar Posts

  • Desert Rose

    Desert Rose By Heather Elizabeth Warren Her mother dropped her in the dry, undernourished soil Alone, without others to tend her Invisible, nearly dead Standing still With little ground to walk on sun with a scarce few dew drops is what she fed on somehow she blooms by the miracle of perseverance & stillness no…

  • A Lion

    Last night I dreamt of a lion By Ruth Humphreys Last night I dreamt of a lion. The moon was full, she met me by a childhood stream. I walked with her equals, calm, poised Inside screaming. This was a rite. A little faster, she caught up, her mouth open considering her prey. Her head…

  • Returning Home

    By Andrea Lewis (Part 3 of a 3-part series; see Part 1 and Part 2) The inner peace that followed me for the remainder of my time in England, soon dissolved when I returned to Canada. I temporarily lived out of a suitcase between my mother’s and boyfriend’s home and I felt out of place,…

  • Moon Blessings

    By Susan Morgaine I lay upon my bed Beneath the window, shade raised Bathed in the moonlight I am blessed   I hear her as She calls to me I slip silently from my bed and out the door   I feel the grass, cold and damp beneath my feet as I walk toward my…

  • The Awen

    By Joanna van der Hoeven The awen symbol is based on an original design by the 18th-19th century Druid revivalist, Iolo Morganwg. It consists of three lines falling to the right, centre and left. Modern Druidry incorporates the original source point of three dots, which can either be seen as points of light or drops from…