The Forest Walk

Broceliande Forest may still be in Brittany, as any person from that land will tell you, but Broceliande of Myth touches all woods with wonder. Magic calls it closer, love of Magic, of the wonders of the world, closer still.

As Broceliande edges closer, the shadow trees hover amid the ordinary trees, in the back lots and back yards of suburbia. They shoulder closer to my gardens back gate, they call by moonlight and dark night, by mist and fog, the paths glitter with ten thousand stars of otherworldly dew.

Mystery dwells there. Griffon and Hedgehog, Dragon and Squirrel are part of the whole. Myth is realities other side, as close as the letters on two sides of a paper, and as far apart.

Magical, mystical, mythical, ordinary Broceliande where there are trees older than humanity, other things almost as old, and many other inhabitants more or less so.

Many worlds overlap Broceliandes borders. Her paths are dangerous or perhaps challanging is the word, for the path you took yesterday may not lead to the same place today. A few only, however you tread them and wherever they wind, end up at the same spot.

One of these leads down a Way of Ancient Oaks, to a Grove where the trees reach into the clouds. Where sunlight is a memory. Where the giant boles circle protectively the Stone at their center, and at Broceliande's center . The Stone itself contains a bubbling pool, whose water rises from both worlds and perhaps others. Straight up out of the stone it flows. It is the ever flowing heart of Broceliande. It is a very holy place. Enter with a Good Heart or EnterThe Mess home page