Eostre(I first wrote this in 2008, and since I find the intro entertaining, I think I'll leave itApologies for the tardiness of this entry. A couple weeks ago, as my husband and I were driving, a huge deer jumped right in front of our car. We were absolutely fine, aside from a little shock and damage to the car itself. So I've been taking care of all that fun bureaucratic stuff that goes along with filing a claim.I was lamenting to my mother how this was impeding the progress of my Ostara diary when she pointed out that hitting that deer has everything to do with Wicca. And she's right. The stag, or horned god, is a major figure in Wicca. He courts and mates with the Goddess in spring, is sacrificed in the fall, and reborn in the winter."Yes, but the stag is supposed to be sacrificed in fall, not spring!" I told her. " And not even at Ostara, at Beltaine!""Well, this stag was just a little confused," she said.Indeed.Anyway, on to Ostara. Interestingly, one definition of Easter
White OwlThe white owl opens up her eyes,sways her vision to the skies;seeking out a creature's cry,through the woods' nocturnal sigh.In the darkness crickets sing,far beneath the owl's white wing.Dew drops to the leaves still cling,sparkling with a lucent sheen.Senses alert, she prepares for flight,hearing creatures near their plight,she spreads her wings into the nightsilent as moonlight, and as white.
I KnowI rememberwhen you were born,you were so smallI was afraid to touch you.But you came to me, right away.I know you wantedto be my childand I obliged.Yet I often wonderwho it was that rescued whom?I rememberthat cold November daywhen you cuddled against daddy,warm inside his coatand fell asleep.I know you wantedto stay always indoorsaway from that wretched cold,against which your dark, silky hairsimply was no match.I rememberwhen you first spoke,your voice so small.How my ears perked up, and my heart leapedwhen you tried to say "Mom".I know you wantto speak just like me,but for never saying a wordyour vocabulary is superb.And I wonder which of usis the true poet.I rememberwhen you tried so hard to walk,balancing upright against the wall, so proud.I know you wantto walk just like me,and I'm sorry I'm such a poor example;And my limps, my crutches, my misplaced stepsmake your efforts all the more valiant.I rememberthose gorgeous eyesblooming gold rig
Artist ProfileName: (real or other) Julia Rain Jeys Wellman. Rain Jeys is my pen name (middle + maiden)Age: 24Gender: FemaleA brief description about yourself: I'm a young adult fantasy author and am currently working on a seven-volume series. It is my goal in life to be a successful published author. I also like to write poetry. I like exploring emotions and playing around with words.Single/Dating/Married? MarriedWhen did you first come to DeviantART? Maybe a little less than a year ago. Came for the photomanipulations, stayed for the Lit community (once I learned there was one!)Do you think submitting your work to DeviantART has helped improve your writing? Oh, yes. I've gotten tons of great feedback.Where do you find your best inspiration? I get a lot of inspiration from music, some from dreams, mythology and art. Mostly stuff just comes to me and I use music and art to flesh it out.If you were a flower what kind of flower would you consider yourself to be and why? Good question! Probably
About The AuthorThe greatest challenge for me is returning my life to some semblance of normalcy after my spinal cord injury. When I was seventeen, I fell from a ladder and bruised my spinal cord, which left me in a wheelchair for over a year. Since then, I have progressed from a walker, to crutches, to a cane. At the time of the accident, I had only been dating my boyfriend for a month. Astounding, he stayed with me, even though I spent a month in rehab three hours away.I've had to face the fact that I will never walk the same again. At first, I thought that I would just take a few years and use them to get myself better. I put my entire life on hold. It was like time literally stopped. I put off going to college, because I wanted to be a naturalist and it's hard to be a naturalist, out hiking in nature, in a wheelchair. Besides, I didn't want to go to college in a wheelchair. I didn't want to do anything in a wheelchair. I wanted to stay home and focus on getting better, then worry about living my
Dear SantaDear Santa, I may be twenty-three now, but I still believe in you: in the spirit of Christmas. So I'm writing this, despite my age, and despite the distinct lack of Christmas spirit I currently feel. Because for me, Christmas means being home in California with my family, and this will be the first year I've been away from them for the holidays. You see, when I was seventeen, I had a terrible accident that left me in a wheelchair for more than a year, and today has me walking with the addition of a cane, and a whole host of chronic pains and conditions, and minus my left big toe, right kidney and left floating rib.But I am blessed enough to have, in October, come under the care of an amazing chiropractor who can help me, eventually, to feel better. And just in time, too. A herniated disc in my lower back is threatening to rupture, and my doctor says without consistent care it would be unsafe for me to travel. And so my family