This morning the alarm woke me before sunrise -- and I actually got up! Maybe I was energised by a trip to a group of sacred springs yesterday. The moon is just a few days past full, and was silver, high in the sky. I went to my grove of trees. I took with me some sage, incense, homemade bread, water I collected from a spring yesterday, a candle, and a copy of this poem - which I wrote a few days ago. As I crossed the pasture, the horses came to say hello.

I felt happy. Summer is not my favourite season and I'm looking forward to the cooler weather ahead. In my mind, the moon, still visible as I walked, although it was now light, represented the coming longer nights, while the sun, not yet quite up, represented the summer we are leaving behind. The pastures, and the wider landscape are a mixture of green and gold.  We have been in drought for several years, but it broke in July and has rained quite a bit. July and August are the most common months for rain here, which means that autumn often sees a growth of green grasses and forbs among the already mature and dried-off stands of grass. Maybe that was in my mind as I wrote the poem below. I was really longing for the broad leaf forests of Britain when I wrote it.

My little grove of cottonwood trees are very dear to me. They are huge and gnarled, and there is a lateral irrigation ditch running beside them. My boundary fence, the grove and the ditch are all oriented east-west, with the trees between the ditch and the fence. They actually straddle the property line between my neighbour's land and mine. It makes the space feel all the more liminal...

You can read more of my poetry in my latest collection.

You've probably experienced the startling beauty of a really hard frost. The world is transformed into a frozen fairyland of sparkling toys, and sometimes treacherous roads and footpaths. One of my most abiding memories of frost is of a moonlit drive I took across central Scotland one Hogmanay after playing a gig in Stirlingshire. I had just started my own band, and had borrowed a PA from a colleague in Fife. The only thing was, he needed it for a gig the next day. The shortest route from door to door was down an assortment of winding B roads over rolling farmland and through villages. It just happened to be a full moon, and a very hard frost had been lingering for a couple of days.

Dramatic changes are often less appealing than my moonlit drive. However, Frost is quite an ephemeral thing. If it lasts for a day or two, that's pretty unusual, and while it's real enough, very little has actually changed under the white coating. Likewise, this card tends to refer to changes that, while they seem dramatic and sweeping, turn out to be no big deal. Tomorrow may be sunny or it may rain, but the Frost will quickly be forgotten.

Thinking about the current new moon, and an appropriate meditation, led me to this. The habit of calling the dark moon the "new moon" causes some confusion because it might seem to describe that sliver of light which soon appears as the waxing crescent, as in this painting. I really intend this kind of meditation to be done around the time of the dark moon. In music, we talk about the importance of the silence between the notes. In the same way, the dark moon is a time of pause, or suspension which defines the light and energy it frames. I also wrote in more detail about The New Moon in a blog post last month.

Tide rising, tide going out. Times of power and times of rest. More and more I'm thinking about the rhythm of my life - how to tie that in with the phases of the moon and with the wheel of the year. Sometimes our desire to bring new growth, new stuff and new adventures into our lives is very strong. Other times, it feels more important to get rid of some things. Negativity, pain, anger . . . you know. There are all kinds of techniques, spells, charms, or whatever you choose to call them, which can allow us to let go of things which aren't helping us. Have you ever thought about how the waning moon energy might help with that?

Dotted around the British Isles you can find trees, usually next to holy wells, called "clootie trees". In Scots a clootie is literally a cloth, whether a rag or an item of clothing. There is an old saying, "Ne'er cast a cloot 'til May is oot," meaning don't discard any items of winter clothing until the end of May, while a "clootie dumpling" is a pudding steamed in a tea towel or a piece of muslin. On these clootie trees you will see strips of cloth and ribbon, and even entire pieces of clothing at some locations, hung on the trees. These might be offerings of worship to some saint or deity, but at many trees the tradition is one of requesting the removal of illness or some other trouble. The idea is that as the cloth decays, so the problem will fade away.

I live in a very dry place where the chances of finding water at all, let alone a natural spring, are slim. However, I do have some beautiful cottonwood trees on my farm which have gotten their roots into enough water to grow very large. The energy around them is special to me, and without giving it much thought I spontaneously began tying the occasional clootie to them. Some are acts of worship, and others are requests to take things away.

While I know that it is traditional to work with the full moon, it is worth considering that it is actually only truly full for a moment, so I am trying something new, working with the waning gibbous moon. This time in the moon's phase is still bright and power-filled, but because it is also waning, I feel that the power of removal and decay is particularly present. If you have something that you want removed from your life, what better time to ask?

I like to write things on my strips of cloth. That might be the name of a deity - in which case I prefer to use something beautiful or precious like a favourite piece of ribbon, or it may be a word representing something I want to get rid of, in which case a strip torn from any old rag will do. Luckily, I'm in good health and I have not had to use this for illness, so I can't say what this kind of healing feels like for a physical ailment. In the case of other negative things I know that many of them are in my life because I resist letting go of them. This is particularly true with negative emotions and attitudes. What I seem to feel happening here is a kind of insistent reminder to work on the resistance itself, and perhaps a bit more resolve and strength to do that than I had before. If my clooties are aiding that process, then I think they are a great help.

You don't need me to walk you through this process step by step. If you like the idea, take it and make it your own. Do the things that will make it meaningful for you. Do what feels right. And may the waning moon assist you!

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like The New Moon another exploration of the possibilities of working with the moon.

The terms "full moon" and "new moon" really describe a fleeting moment in the moon's flowing cycle of waxing and waning. Any astronomer or astrologer will tell you that the moon is only truly full or dark for a fraction of a second. As the picture below shows, the changes in the moon's shape always appear on our right as we look at it. So when the full moon begins to wane, the right side appears to be eaten away by darkness, and after the complete darkness of the new moon, the crescent of light begins to appear on the right side of the moon's circle. This flow is nice to understand, in those moments when you glance up at the moon and may wonder "Is it about to be full, or was it fuller yesterday?" and "Is the new moon coming, or has it passed?"

You may have noticed that at the full moon people and animals tend to be restless, more emotional, sleep less, and so on. Tides are higher, there is more crime - everything is powered up and highly charged. So what about the time of the new moon? Generally, this is a time of calm, of waiting. I believe that it is a great time for deep meditation of the "empty mind" type. It is a great time to make peace with ourselves, with our surroundings and with one another in a serene setting - without effort, without discussion. Just to be.

So, personally, I would take the night and day of the darkest moon as a time to do nothing. I would create a still pond on which new impressions and inspirations may be envisioned as that glimmer of light begins to show itself in the coming few days. A sort of internal scrying. Then I might begin to make plans and take actions, working my way toward the full moon when the power is strongest. There is no one right way to work with the moon's power. In some cases, I find that if I have a big, new idea I might only think and plan during an entire waxing period, and after the full moon begins to wane - I might simply let the idea begin to rest and think about it less. Then, as the moon begins to increase again, if the idea has taken root in my heart and mind, I will begin to work on it in a more concrete manner - laying groundwork, planting seeds and working with the increasing energy.

Using the natural flow of the moon's energy in this way is healthy. It allows us times of rest and reflection, times of hard work and achievement. Contemplation and celebration each find their place. Catching hold of the power of the waxing and fuller times of the moon vs taking time to simply open ourselves to the quietest of guidance, and to rest, helps to keep us in balance. In a world where we are told that "we must fulfil our potential" it is easy to feel that we must make things happen, and also easy to give up on them a little and quit trying, to feel like failures, if they don't. Just as we need to find the balance of circadian rhythms of night and day, rest and activity in order to be healthy and productive, so we can also benefit from tuning in more to the rhythm of the moon.

Another way to think about this is in terms of launching boats. Someone launching a little dinghy from the seashore can use the rhythm of the waves to make it easier to get water underneath the boat, and to get a little boost to get moving, too. A larger vessel must wait for the daily tidal changes to be right in order to be safe, perhaps even in order to float. Did I mention that the moon controls the tides?

Monday night being the Hunter's Moon, I had plans to spend some time outdoors enjoying nature, honouring my ancestors and communing with any spirits who came my way. However, in a quiet moment on Monday afternoon, while I was thinking about my plans, some very strong impressions came to me. They unfolded almost like a story in my mind, as if someone was telling me this. I found it quite odd, and to be honest, wondered whether my writer's imagination was filling in the details a little, although I did my best to avoid that.

This is the story -

I was hardly more than a boy. I was walking up the hill from the river. The moon was as it is now and the sun had set in silver and coral. As I walked, the grass tops, before my eyes on the horizon, were like many small crescent moons. Deer had been seen. My older sister was to be married and I wanted a soft skin for her. She had always been kind to me.

The land was not as it is in your time. The land was whole and beautiful, like the skin of a fine animal, shaggy with autumn grass. Now it is a confusion of trees and the false rivers and streams that white men make. They sicken the land with water and salt and big machines. I know you do not like this. I think you can see a little into the old time.

I could find no deer. Not even a rabbit or badger moved about. I never saw the bear before she ended my life. I travelled to the world of spirits and it was a good world. I asked to be an eagle, and I think they laughed quietly at me. I became a sandhill crane, and lived a good life until I was old and sick, when I froze to death. After that I lived many lives and saw many wonderful lands. I have not walked the earth in a breathing body for a long time. There is other work to do. But you reached out to me, so near to the place where I was looking for deer.