When the Spring Hare comes to a Witches Wood

March may be the beginning of spring, but here in my woods it differs quite a bit from the normal springtime fare. No daffodils or tulips indeed, as snowbanks are still thigh-high in some areas, and the snow storms continue. Here spring is about thawing out and melting, and tis still pretty much hidden from the naked eye. For it is not what is seen above ground that is of import…but in its stead what resides below.

It is usually around the spring equinox or dark moon…

when I am up late within the witching hour working spells, or simply up writing late into the night. I’ll peer out of my window into the wood, to see the hare nestled upon the snowbank sitting there. Under the scarlet elderberry that is right next to the window, awaiting for me to notice her there. I then instinctively start a brew of spring equinox tea, a woodland brew of mine to bring about the fetch within, and an aid to shapeshifting with the hare.

Hares are connected to rebirth and intuition, bringing the gifts of the underworld as the light increases…

and folklore tells of witches who could turn themselves into the hare, running about the woods and countryside creating mischief with the fae. I was fascinated by the lore and wrote about it a while back in The Witch and the Hare, a Spring Equinox Tale,  desiring an experience for myself. Winter here is cold, long, dark, and full of shadows. So the idea of running about a warm spring wood in wild abandon with the hare, and then creating mischief with the fae sounded quite enchanting indeed. Although I have now been with the hare and seen the fae.. it was not what I just described.

With a flying ointment in hand and sipping the rest of the tea I retire to my bedroom. Spring green candles aglow a bed of fresh moss, the scent of earthiness entwined with lily of the valley, (aka fae cups) fill the room. I crack a window open for my body to escape and lay down upon my bed. The warm sensation of the ointment becoming stronger now, a warmth that becomes entwined in a swirling sensation, and I drift off into flight…

The next thing I see is a black and white wood that I am racing in, zig-zagging every which way…

I see myself entering a black hole in the center of a birch tree, birch being the maiden of spring. Intense falling becomes flight… and I fly with the hare, beneath my woods in darkness. The only light is from the brown and spring-green hues, the living flora and fungi that will appear when the snow melts. I’m almost floating now, taking notice of where everything will be. I see where the fly agaric will be covered by pine needles, and which tree stumps the turkey tail mushrooms will grow upon this year. I see where everything I forage will be, and where I should plant my food, herb, and poisonous gardens for the season. Finally, the floating spirals upward, and the hare and I return to my black and white woods once again. Drifting within the wood becomes a feeling, an emotion that needs to be taken heed of. For some times a tingling grows into excitement, indication of magickal workings with the fae. Other times the sound of buzzing bees gives way to fear and darkness, visions of where the sidhe hills remain. The next vision be the eye of the hare slowly dimming, the light of flight now slipping away. Till the next time I run with the spring hare…and dance where the sidhe play.