A nearly full moon hangs above the trees, and leaves skitter across the road like little animals as I drive, so much so I keep half-stopping.
Finally at the end of November it feels like proper October—wind up, warm still but winter threatening, a little scary. Between things.
Fey in my tradition also are ghosts and the other night spirits. Some are clean-feeling and friendly, some not.
Here where I live, this land I nominally own, it’s Snoqualmie tribe land, as much as land belongs to people. My ex said that he sensed here the folks who stayed with the land, and I feel that too.
Down the hill, he built a small cabin that we still both use. We’d been to Ireland, and brought back pictures and literature about sheela na gig figures, which we’d seen there. He made a statue, and the fey inspired him to build a cabin, and someone came to inhabit both—someone who had been here a long time. He was her friend from the start, and over time she and I made a detente. She looks after our family.
She is dark, but protective. I feel she is a spirit who holds the boundary between life and death. Hence her attraction to the energy of the sheela na gig, who does that too. A goddess, perhaps, of some past people. The coven has seen her as a bear.