Gather Ye Rosebuds…

This lovely bloom is from my garden. I love the soft rain drops on her delicate red petals. Looking closer, the words of Robert Herrick’s poem came to mind…20062013517

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.

That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

Robert Herrick~1591-1674


Lagoon Lovelies

Summer visitors crossing the little wooden bridge across the Lagoon onto Koukounaries beach were entranced by these beauties…I could not resist adding them to our holiday snaps :)


I’m counting to 10…




She won’t find us over here ;)


Coming…ready or not!


O’er…where did they go???

DSC03904 2

Come out, come out, where ever you are!!

Posted in BIRDS, MAGIC OF NATURE, NATURAL WORLD, NATURE PHOTOGRAPHY, PHOTOGRAPHY, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , | 3 Comments

Black Swans

We met these beauties at the Lagoon at Koukounaries on the beautiful Greek Island of Skiathos last week. The little family, just like mine, were on their Summer holidays:)


Shall we go this way?


Hmm…it doesn’t feel quite right …


It’s OK to change direction if you need to :)

Posted in NATURAL WORLD, NATURE PHOTOGRAPHY, PHOTOGRAPHY | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Lonely Loom

Deep within the darkest heart of Night,                                                                                       Dance slender beams of soft MoonLight
Penetrating through the dank and gloom
Falling upon a forbidding Castle Tower
Where sits a lovely Lady in her Bower
Lost in time, she works  her lonely Loom,                                                                                          A tide of tears falling upon ethereal hands,                                                                             Entwined around enchanted, silken strands.

The Lady of Shalott Looking at Lancelot, 1894 - John William Waterhouse

The Lady of Shalott Looking at Lancelot, 1894 – John William Waterhouse

Taking numinous threads of silver and gold
A story of a  Knight’s chivalrous deeds unfolds,
With armour, steel and steed, he rode to war
Forsaking his Lady Love on Sceptred shores.

Blithely breaking his promise of a Wedding band                                                                             For the glory of King’s Crusades in a foreign Land.                                                                       Her beloved sailed righteously across the seas,                                                                     Enemy and Gallantry brought him to his knees.

For the Templar’s cause the Knight gave his life
Forfeiting his vow to make the Lady his wife.
Falling on faraway fields, his life blood ebbed.
Love lives on, though her Knight is long dead.

Eons of time encroach on the shadows and gloom,
Awaiting her Lover’s return, she sits by her  loom.
Lingering midst rot and decay, still she trusts
Love eternal will raise him from ashes and dust.

Perchance, your steps  take you through the ruined walls of the Castle Keep,                         By pale moon light and night’s embrace, you may yet hear the Lady Weep.


© Eily Nash

Posted in DEATH, DIVINE FEMININE, EILY NASH, GOSSAMER THREADS, MAGICK, OCCULT, PARANORMAL FICTION, POEM, Pre-Raphaelite, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment


The_Hunt_of_the_Unicorn_Tapestry_7 The_Hunt_of_the_Unicorn_Tapestry_7.jpg

Ellis meets her Unicorn

…And once again in that place between worlds, the veil began to lift. Ellis was standing in blackness, total darkness, then there it was, a tiny flicker of light, no more that a spark at first. The spark grew larger, til it was the size of a tennis ball and it was spinning and fizzing at an alarming rate, like a Catherine Wheel on a dark November’s night. Ellis watched in excited anticipation, even the air smelt electric. And then, just like a Catherine wheel, the spinning ball ran out of puff, and a vaporous mist overshadowed the now spent light show, filling the void she found herself in. Ellis turned away in disappointment, was that it? The vapours began to rise, and as her eyes became accustomed to the gloom, she realised she was standing in a moonlit forest glade. The soft silver rays of the celestial orb kissing the branches of the trees as they swayed gently, collectively, in the breeze in quiet benediction to the Goddess and the blessing Her light bestowed upon them.

Gazing at the serenity of the scene before her, Ellis stood in quiet enjoyment drinking in the sheer beauty and grace of the trees. Every tree was different from her sister, every tree with her own story to tell. Her awareness was drawn to a large barn owl sanguinely watching her from shadows. His gaze held her gaze and as he hooted to the quiet night, she swore she heard the owl call her name. Shuddering, Ellis felt the owl was an omen and a sense of foreboding enveloped her. Then the sound of laughter, a high pitched neighing whining laughter. It was so totally incongruous in the setting she found herself in that Ellis laughed to. Laughing, she found something soft nuzzling the back of her neck, until she unexpectedly exclaimed ‘Ow!’ as something sharp poked her head. Feeling perturbed by the mixed emotions she slowly turned. There he was! Her very own Lyrico, a beautiful Unicorn as white as white, as white as pure white snow, and his eyes were deep and green, large and numinous, between which his horn glistened sharp and silvery, and as a moonbeam danced of it, Ellis again shuddered for it was as lethal looking as the Athame she had found back at Myrtle cottage.

Overcoming her trepidation Ellis felt drawn to the Unicorn, as if a magnetic force were pulling her towards the mystical creature. His eyes held her own in a hypnotic gaze, and she felt as if he were looking deeply into her very soul. There was no laughter now, just the magnificent Unicorn holding her prisoner by the sheer force of his will. The trees had fallen silent, mute witnesses to the scene before them.

Inside Ellis was screaming, it wasn’t supposed to be like this Her unicorn, her very own unicorn, wasn’t he supposed to invite her to climb on his back and soar over the forest off into the great blue yonder for fabulous adventures, and maybe with the little proviso that the adventures came with a ‘guaranteed safe’ tag attached. Her mind felt itself spinning, whirring just like the Catherine wheel of light that started all of this.

The unicorn snorted and she felt his hot breath on her face, to her immense relief he turned and cantered away. A dry sob cracked in her throat and then in sheer unmitigated fear Ellis realised that he had turned back, was facing her, his eyes once again locked on hers like an Exocet missile, his nostrils flared, he pawed the ground and then ran at her. The lethal looking horn glinting, glistening as the moonlight hit it full on, a blade of thin steel coming straight at her. An excruciating pain seared through her body as she realised in abject horror that the unicorn had speared her, right between her eyes, impaled her on his horn. A trickle of her ruby red blood fell on his pure white coat, and as Ellis collapsed to the ground the owl called her name and she heard the sound of nightingales weep…

© Eily Nash ~ Extract from “Wychwood~Winter’s Child

Posted in EILY NASH, GOSSAMER THREADS, MAGIC, MAGICK, PARANORMAL FICTION, SUPERNATURAL, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The Dark Mage


A Jewel in the Aegean – Our much loved Island of Skiathos

Back in the mists of time, there was a small sun kissed island, a multi-faceted jewel of nature set midst the splendour of the Aegean Sea. On the Island was a Sacred Grove, planted with all manner of good things. The trees were abundant with olives, pomegranates, apples and oranges and lemons. In the centre of this fertile place was a Temple, a perfect oblong of pure white marble set with pillars all around. The temple was constructed on a raised dais and several steps led up to the entrance portal. Within the Temple, behind huge floor to ceiling golden doors, was an inner circle, a place where no man had ever stood. Within the inner circle a sacred eternal flame burnt brightly, marking the hours and days and seasons and years. The flame of eons burned and Incense blended from Frankincense, Sandalwood, Patchouli and Myrrh hung in the air, pungently sweet. Rose petals of purest white were scattered daily, in homage to The Great Mother, the Goddess of Light, Dark, Night and Day.

Her High Priestess, Lydia, knelt before the awe inspiring, pure white marble statue, in devotion and veneration to her Lady. Her gaze was fixed and intent on the cool, still beauty of the marble Goddess, draped in luxurious robes, spun from pure silk. The golden, silver and blue threads woven as if ‘She of a Thousand Names’ was draped in the fabric of the heavens above. With deep love and devotion the High Priestess brought offerings of fresh fruit and flowers and laid them before the Lady. Bowing in reverence she also brought prayers and supplications from those who sought the blessings and forgiveness the Goddess alone could provide.

            The High Priestess had charge over the Temple Maidens and Eunuchs. To be in her Presence was admittance to the inner sanctum of the Temple. This was where the magic and mystery happened, and the High Priestess and the Eunuchs would perform the sacred rites and rituals, those things forbidden to those who were not initiates. The will of the Goddess was manifest, and her High Priestess was her will in motion. Attis loved passionately his role in the sacred rituals, and seeing the favour in Lydia’s’ beautiful pale blue eyes made him feel truly blessed, life for him was perfect. For Lydia, though, as much as she cherished and relished her elevated status, she had deep within her a hunger. It was not satiated by the adoration of the crowds who swarmed to see her perform sacred rites, or by the secret rituals performed with the eunuchs and her handmaidens. There was a hunger within her that could not be fed. She longed for something she did not have, but she knew not what the hunger was that gnawed like a hungry beast within her belly.

            Lydia was very beautiful; her long white blonde hair was pulled back from her face, and plaited like a crown across her head, all the better to show her striking aquiline features. The beauty was a mask, an inscrutable countenance that was her public persona. Only the Goddess saw the true Lydia, and only the Goddess knew that the benevolent smile Her Priestess bestowed upon the Eunuchs hid her true feelings of revulsion for these men, who in her eyes, were but men in name only. And how beneath her cool exterior Lydia’s gaze fell favourably, too favourably, upon the men of influence who came to the Temple with their petitions. How they stirred the hunger in her belly. A hunger she could not satiate with any of them. She also had a jealous heart for the wives of the High born men.

            It came to pass one day that a stranger and his entourage arrived at the Temple. He did not look like the people of the island. He was of stocky build, dark and swarthy, wrapped in billowing black robes, a bull’s horn inscribed with strange script hung from his thick neck. As he emerged from the olive grove, he caught sight of Lydia on the temple steps. Instantly the stranger was transfixed by her cool and elegant beauty. She stood tall and proud, her long white blonde hair wound and bound around her exquisite face. He beheld her and desired her.

            Lydia, hearing a rustling sound looked up and saw Him, mysterious, swarthy and black. She saw the look of naked desire on his face. It awakened something in her and as her eyes looked into his black eyes, a crimson glow crossed her pallid face and the hunger stirred again in her belly. Something unspoken passed between them, recognition of an insatiable hunger.

            With a huge stride he came towards her, announcing himself as a stranger in this land. He declared in a thunderous voice his name as Phobos, the sound of it made her shudder with fear and with anticipation of the unknown. His gaze was intense; he looked at her as a mere woman. To him she was not an elevated High Priestess; there was no respect in his gaze, just pure, unadulterated lust. Mesmerized by his Presence, it took some time for Lydia to realize that Phobos was not alone. Stepping out from the shadow of his cavernous black cloak was a frail and small woman. Her back hunched over as if she carried much weight upon it. Her eyes were sad, and her look very tired. The woman looked old and weary way beyond her years, dressed in a grey garment that was not the style of these parts and depicted her as a stranger. With a dismissive wave of his hand Phobos introduced his Handmaiden, Dolores. Eyes averted and not daring to look at Lydia, Dolores bobbed down in a gesture of subservience.

            All of a sudden, Lydia was surrounded by her entourage of handmaidens and Eunuchs. Attis came towards Phobos, and speaking with authority he advised him that he was on sacred ground and disrespecting the Lady and her High Priestess. Lydia noted the fleeting flash of anger in Phobos’ dark eyes and the clenched fist. However, he immediately bowed his head in conciliatory fashion and pleading ignorance, begged their pardon. Phobos, pulled Dolores close to his side, and asked for sanctuary for him and his entourage and his wife.

            ‘We are strangers here, we have travelled from a land a far across the Ocean, we are strangers to your customs and have no desire to cause offence through our ignorance.’

          As was the custom, sanctuary was given and Attis took Phobos and Dolores to a place of rest, set away from the temple. Food was served, and when satiated Phobos lay down on a couch to rest. Dolores lay on the floor at his feet as he had instructed her to do.

            News of the arrival of the dark stranger spread to the village, and the Elder came to greet him in welcome. A feast was prepared in his honor, as Phobos had declared himself a Mage, a wise man of Magic from the Court of a powerful king in a far -away land. At the feast, Lydia consecrated and blessed the food. Offerings on behalf of the villagers were presented to the magnificent marble statue of their Lady, the Goddess first. With deep reverence Lydia went through the offerings and rituals, and a hushed silence fell upon the waiting crowd as their beloved High Priestess performed her duties.

            At last it was time to Feast, to eat drink and be merry, dusk was falling, and Venus glowed brightly in the cobalt sky. A huge fire pit blazed. And there was the sweet sound of music pervading the air from the citharas, lyres and panpipes. The Elder declared that all should eat drink and be merry. Lydia sat on a raised diadem away from the throng, watching, watching, and watching. How many feasts had she observed, silently detached. But tonight something was different. She looked at the dark Mage, his very presence drew her like a magnet, but she could not go to him. He locked his black eyes on her deep blue gaze, with a look that said,

            ‘Yes, I know you want me’.

          Embarrassed she turned her head, and her gaze fell upon Dolores and shocked she saw by the look on her face, she had witnessed the intensity of their look, and it was acknowledged with sad acceptance. The dark Mage, Phobos, as guest of honor held the floor. He regaled his audience with tales from his own country, of his deeds as a man of magic and healer. Everyone was entranced by him. Nobody took much notice of quiet little Dolores, sat like a loyal dog at his feet.

          For seven nights Phobos stayed on the island. And for seven nights there was feasting and merriment and the islanders grew more and more entranced with their strange dark visitor. It was with absolute awe they watched him perform healing miracles on some of the afflicted amongst them. The crowds were spellbound by the magic feats he conjured. Such things had not been witnessed on their tiny island before. He had an aura of power of mystery and arcane knowledge. Such was their fascination, he even eclipsed their feelings for their beloved Lydia. Unlike the High Priestess who was blessed with clairsentience, they were oblivious to the source of his powers, that he was an adept of the dark arts. But, this mattered not to her for by now she too had fallen totally under his spell. Attis the Eunuch was the only one who saw her mask slip and the only one not beguiled by the dark Master. With sad disbelief Attis watched his beloved Lydia cast looks of desire he had longed to receive from her at another man….

Extract from ‘Torn From The Heart’ © Eily Nash 2012


Benediction of the Trees


I took this one Summer’s day on Paradise Lane, Glastonbury, after paying my  respects to the magical Oaks, Gog & Magog ,who live in the field opposite this beauty. The story is from my book ‘Wychwood~Winter’s Child’.

Ellis was aware the sun was hanging low in the sky and would be setting shortly. She would need to make haste to avoid the impending gloom that would descend over the woods once the golden Orb had disappeared into the horizon. As the overgrown path meandered downhill, she kept her gaze fixed upon where she was going, so as to avoid stumbling on loose pebbles. A glint of light caught the corner of her eye. Stopping in her tracks she became aware of a perfect circle of chestnut trees in a little glade. Their branches slowly swaying and leaves quivering and dancing in rhythm to the music of the breeze. Golden Sun light twinkled upon verdant leaves and dappled over the deep brown nuts that littered the forest glade, cracked open from their protective casings. An invitation hung on the air.

Gently stepping over the fallen nuts, Ellis stepped within the circle of trees, noting by the girth of their trunks and the strength of the long outstretched branches, that these were indeed Grand Dames of the woodland. Very old and very wise, gnarled and knotted yet strong proud and beautiful. Their outstretched limbs intertwining and interconnecting with each other, embracing each other in an intricate lattice-work of wood, which seemed to grow tighter and more close-knit as Ellis moved towards their centre.

’Ah the circle is cast!’ she thought.

And within their protective conclave she became aware of a quiet communication,the whispers of the wind danced between each sister tree. With a jolt she realised that the trees were speaking not only to each other, but also to her! They were imbuing her with a sense of themselves, of what it felt like to have roots that sank deep down into the verdant rich dark soil, their root systems mirroring the branches above, all interconnected and intertwined. Ellis felt a tingle in the soles of her feet and with a start realised that she had sunk ankle-deep into the earth. She did not feel any fear, just an awareness that her toes, bones,nervous system and veins seemed to be growing and extending beyond the confines of her flesh. She was growing roots. Roots that meandered through the earth, touching, connecting, wrapping around those of the trees that surrounded her, and it felt good. Ellis raised her arms up high in sheer joy, and once again felt the tingle, and her fingers seemed to elongate, the flesh, veins, bones, nervous systems stretching, stretching up to the tall branches, connecting into those of her sisters around her. For Ellis now felt at one in the circle of the Horse Chestnut sisters.Above her upturned face, the sun in a final swan song burst through the density of the leaves, bathing Ellis in a golden light. It felt so good to pull the light of the sun into her body. She felt it travel through her limbs and trunk, and then as the sun sank on the horizon she became aware that all was momentarily dark. From the deep blackness of this void a light began to appear, whirling before her eyes. The motion slowed to a standstill, and a perfect golden hexagon had formed. Within the six golden points of the star was a silver tree, branches perfectly aligned with the upper points of the star, and root system stretched out in symmetry over the lower points of the star. A blinding flash of light exploded in the centre of her head as the symbol was absorbed through her crown chakra into the very core of her Being. With the words ‘As Above, So Below’ reverberating around the cavern of her mind she knew, in that moment, the cosmic synergy of heaven and Earth. She fully understood the importance of trees, fully sentient beings, working in Divine Service of Source upon the Earth.

Darkness closed in on her.

Stirred to her to her senses by the loud chittering of excited birds, Ellis was surprised to see the Sun rising. She found herself lying curled up on a carpet of springy moss and sweet-smelling chamomile, under the protection of one of the huge Chestnut trees. Stirring to remember how she had come to be here, a whirl of thoughts flooded her mind and senses. Had it been a dream? Feelings of being one with the trees, of having roots that stretched deep down into Gaia’s warmth and received sustenance and grounding; of having strong branches that stretched heavenwards, and feeling the warmth of the sun as it brought life-giving energy down through her body? She recalled the feelings of pleasure of having beautiful leaves, and bearing flowers and fruit that in turn delighted and nourished. She smiled remembering the shelter she gave to the birds of the air and the insects and creatures of the forest and pleasure of wood nymphs coming to dance and play. Most of all, being of service to the Source above and beloved Mother Gaia below.

As Ellis stood and stretched, she noticed a young sapling by the strongest and oldest tree. From one of it’s tender young branches a glint caught her eye. Stretching out her hand, she felt a familiar tingle and there in her palm lay a pendant, formed from a gold six pointed star, on which the form of a tree was wrought in silver.

And the young tree seemed to whisper on the wind, ‘My gift to you, my Mother…’

As above , So below.


© Eily Nash