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    Becoming Birch: Timeless Tales in the Wheel of the Year
    Becoming Birch: Timeless Tales in the Wheel of the Year
    Becoming Birch: Timeless Tales in the Wheel of the Year
    Ebook98 pages1 hour

    Becoming Birch: Timeless Tales in the Wheel of the Year

    By Elizabeth Rowan Keith

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    About this ebook

    Step out of time and place to experience the holidays of the ancient world and those who celebrate them. Hear the graceful and wise voice of a woman who walked into the forest and remained as an enchanted birch. Beginning with an award-winning story, this collection rises out of Celtic antiquity and marks the ancient wheel of the year with a tale taking place on each of the natural holidays.

    Elegantly told and gently insightful, each tale takes place within the arcane world of a single forest where classic tradition and the earliest of legends hold true. Only through spellbinding residence in this birch grove could these dazzling and engaging tales be told.

    If you would like to know what happens in this forest of ancient glamor and lasting myth, the gracious birch waits to tell her stories. Join her today. Begin reading Becoming Birch: Timeless Tales in the Wheel of the Year.

    This long-awaited series of seasonal events does not disappoint. The author draws us into another world of conscious trees interacting with their environment, Little People and the Green Man. A wonderful escape from today’s stressful living! -- Suzy Stewart Dubot, author of the award-winning novel Hint of a Ghost.

    In a skillful blend of nature and nurture, Elizabeth Rowan Keith's Becoming Birch; Timeless Tales in the Wheel of the Year transports readers into a marvelous forest filled with a fascinating array of characters. Highly recommended. -- Anna Scott Graham, author of The Possibility of What If

    Here is the Celtic calendar as experienced by the people, especially the women, who celebrate it. Witnessed by a birch tree who was once human, the stories are rich in detail, lyrical in tone, wise in resonance. Life, death, and rebirth are measured by the seasons, ceremony and celebration by the joyous exchange of gifts. P.C. Hodgell — author of God Stalk

    Within the boundaries of a birch grove, characters confont their destinies, transcending the ordinary and gaining wisdom from the profound lessons of nature. These tales are spun with gentleness and compassion, and are told with heartwarming artistry. Stepping into this story, where the ordinary and the magical meet, will delight and uplift your spirit—a wondrous journey, highly recommended for all who seek to find elegance in the quietest of moments. -- Joan Marie Verba, author of Twelve: A Retelling of The Twelve Dancing Princesses

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherElizabeth Rowan Keith
    Release dateFeb 23, 2024
    ISBN9798224325160
    Becoming Birch: Timeless Tales in the Wheel of the Year
    Author

    Elizabeth Rowan Keith

    Elizabeth Rowan Keith is an independent writer and researcher who writes on investigative, ethnographic, and scientific subjects. She also writes award-winning fiction and poetry. She has a doctorate in the biological sciences specializing in ethnobotany and a Master's degree in public administration. Her teaching and research span the fields of sociology, geography, Native American studies, government, natural medicines, and the biological sciences. She holds certifications in many forms of mind/body/spirit medicine. Recently she relocated to the Twin Cities of Minnesota, USA, with her collie, Belle. She is the widow of award-winning author and photographer, David H. Keith.

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      Book preview

      Becoming Birch - Elizabeth Rowan Keith

      Becoming Birch: Timeless Tales in the Wheel of the Year

      Elizabeth Rowan Keith

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © 2023 by Elizabeth Rowan Keith

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Cover by Getcovers

      The stories in this volume which have been previously published include:

      Blood Moon  Copyright © 2012 by Elizabeth Rowan Keith

      Yule at My Feet  Copyright © 2012 by Elizabeth Rowan Keith

      Midwinter Guest  Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Rowan Keith

      Ostara's Delight  Copyright © 2013 by Elizabeth Rowan Keith

      Dedication

      David H. Keith

      a love of many lifetimes

      Table of Contents

      BLOOD MOON

      YULE AT MY FEET

      MIDWINTER GUEST

      OSTARA’S DELIGHT

      BELTANE BIRCH

      LITHA IN LAUGHTER AND LIGHT

      HARVEST BLESSINGS

      MERRY MEET AT MABON

      Appendix

      About the Author

      BLOOD MOON

      SAMHAIN

      I am captivated by the Blood Moon; the October full moon. Annually I look forward to my own tradition of a lone midnight walk in the woods. I become part of something rooted in ancient times. Fresh, crisp air surrounds me as I walk noisily through fallen leaves. Anticipation fills the air. The night is full of possibility.

      Tales of old world celebrations of harvest and ceremonies of sleeping earth are plentiful. Some believe it is a time when the veils between worlds thin to allow those who are willing to cross back and forth.

      I don’t know what I believe. I just answer a call to walk in the woods beneath a full moon in autumn, and feel completely at home.

      This year my moonlight walk began no differently. Guided by the moon I entered the woods. A crisp autumn breeze tossed dry, falling leaves through the trees. The moon led me on into the woods.

      I began to hear voices—women’s voices. Coming to a clearing I had never seen before I found a group of women seated around a fire. They laughed joyfully as they talked among themselves.

      One of the women noticed me watching from the edge of the clearing. She stood and smiled at me, calling with a wave, Come on over! We have room for one more.

      The other women, twelve in all, stood to welcome me with a smile. Greetings and invitations to join came from the group. Some of the women held wooden cups filled with something that must have come from the black pot sitting near the fire. All wore silvery robes from some sort of sisterhood. But they were warm in their welcome and I sensed I could be one of them for a while.

      Here, one woman said as she placed a cup in my hands. Have something to drink. My night-chilled hands welcomed the warmth of it. The hot liquid contents smelled earthy, and tasted of warm apples, herbs, and maple sugar.

      Sipping the tasty warmth, I watched the women of the group. They playfully moved about each other in cheerful chatter and full of smiles. They seemed to have been friends for a very long time.

      What brings you to the woods tonight? I asked the one nearest me. Do you live near here?

      We all live here, she said. Every year we come together at this full moon for food, drink, dancing, and conversation. It’s the only time we are able to really talk.

      You also seem to have a lot of fun, I observed. How long have you known each other?

      Oh, goodness, said the woman as she cocked her head to one side as she thought. "It seems like forever. But we didn’t all begin coming here at once. Some of us began to meet here, and others, like you, happened along and became one of us.

      That sounds nice, I said.

      I’m glad you think so, said my companion with a smile.

      The women set down their cups and began to rise from their seats of tree stumps and fallen logs. They moved into a circle around the fire. We’re going to dance, the woman next to me announced, offering a robe to me. Would you like to join us?

      Feeling rather taken by the moon and the fire, I eagerly said, Sure! What do I do?

      Whatever moves you, explained my new friend. We generally move in a circle, but do what makes you happy.

      So I did. Donning the robe, I took my place in the circle. We began to move to the heartbeat rhythm of a hollow log drum played by one of the dancers. How easy it was to become a part of this dance. My steps were in keeping with the group. It felt ancient and primal, familiar and comfortable. Time was lost to us. When the other dancers moved along in skips and twirls, so did I. When they reached to the sky and looked at the stars, so did I. And when the others stopped at the final strike to the drum with their hands held high and their faces turned to the stars, so did I.

      Rooted in that final pose I saw how close the stars appeared to be, now that the moon had fallen low. I must have stopped dancing under a tree. The leaves brushed against my arms and between my fingers. My limbs felt tireless as I held them above my head. Falling leaves cascaded around me.

      All was silent, save for the whisper of falling leaves. The happy chatter and shouts of the women had ceased. The hollow log drum had fallen quiet. Lowering my gaze I scanned the small clearing for my companions. They all seemed to be gone. Perhaps they were behind the birch trees I just noticed. I did not recall being so close to those trees during the dance. I had not noticed them at all. They nearly filled the clearing. There were twelve of them. Hadn’t the clearing been larger?

      As I studied the trees, I slowly felt my body stiffen strangely in the pose held from the final step of the dance. There seemed to be no way to step from where I stood. I thought my eyes deceived me in the dark. The robe I wore no longer blew against my legs in the autumn wind. It had become solid and round about me. My fingers, on weightless arms above my head, continued to brush against dry and falling leaves. I felt still but for a gentle sway of my arms in the breeze.

      Why did my hair not blow against my face?

      My feet seemed trenched into the earth. Searching for the sight of my boots led me only to tree roots at the bottom of my still and solid robe.

      Then I knew. Shock washed over me.

      I had become the thirteenth birch tree.

      YULE AT MY FEET

      YULE

      A tickle at my feet disturbed a long, sound sleep. I looked

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