I write to you as the Easter Full Moon prepares to comes into its climax this weekend and as the memory of a powerful March Equinox swirls around us still. 

All over my garden, wars are erupting over ownership.  Ducks, owls, stock doves and squirrels are arguing over the use of a barn owl box (the owl is winning) while blackbirds squabble about territory and dunnocks like many birds fight over mates and the best nesting place.  There is much noise, much activity and within it all a respect for the natural hierarchy of nature and of life which brings, ultimately, acceptance and settling.

In September I try to cut back the patches of meadow that have grown unchecked throughout the spring and summer in my wildlife garden, when most of the wildflowers are spent, preparing the ground for the year to come.

Every day, red kites and buzzards fly around an old tree stump in my garden, looking to see if there is food for them to take.  Often there is: besides (safe) scraps that may be left, death is a fact of life in a wildlife garden, and here a vole or any creature that is found dead is placed upon the stump, respectfully, and given the chance of new life through natural recycling. 

In recent days a young heron has been visiting my ponds, hunting in the shallows waiting for a frog or newt to appear.  It is a shy, beautiful creature, a bird of the water and so of feminine emotion and of Spirit.

As Mercury begins his backward movement once again, his disruptive influence is being felt in many ways, overshadowing the days around the celebration of Valentine, the public, and private, time for the expression of love.  In this mode of regression he highlights often uncomfortably what we need to see, confusing our established reality to help us see the truth beneath the illusion.  All noticeable occurrences or coincidences are a lesson or reminder, including that of love. 

It may be that you like me live in a Celtic land, as so many people increasingly are drawn to do.  Wherever you are now, it is probable that you have lived in Scotland, or Wales, or Brittany, or Cornwall, or Ireland or the Isle of Man at some point on your long soul journey.  The Celtic influence was strong too throughout much more of Europe in ancient times, and you may have been a part of it there also.

Autumn is lingering here in the Cambrian Mountains:  leaves are magnificent in their fire colours still, and the trees that carry them are bedecked with a multitude of berry jewels, so many that the flocks of fieldfares and redwings arriving for their winter sanctuary are unable to strip them bare.  The table of nature overflows and there is plenty for everybody.

Recent reports have warned of the impossibility of protecting the British coastline from an encroaching sea. “We cannot win the war on water”, one scientist said.

Last year a colony of Welsh wild black bees honoured my upland home by moving into a natural hive high up in an old oak tree. They survived the winter and multiplied, a talisman of protection and of life.