Dusty Layers of Age; The Devil is in the Details

I often wonder, when entering space, on the marks, that time leaves.
I walked into my office, now with mattress on the floor, as a young one is home. An extra layer or sprinkling of magick, of mermaids and floaty, flying things, with bohemian, hippy accents and flowery soft perfume, greeted me.

Gracefully jumping the mattress, I sent my, bits and bobs box, sailing, the draws closing as it tumbled. A timely reminder yes, but it was the way the layers of sage dust, cat fur, powdered frankincense and myrrh, just for  a moment, caught the light and fair folk were there, within vision. As the floaties hit the floor. They became dust. Something to be cleansed, cleaned and cleared. Got rid of, cast off.

Endings of dreams long ago, some fulfilled and others languishing, in the dustpan, with brush, afore the rubbish bag.

The big pieces of our layered lives, we pull out, examine and explore.  But the other stuff, the drifting skin cells, the ashes of yesterdays incense, we brush, we blow, we scrape away. Hoping our lives retain a patina, a polish of high sheen, that someday one shall  notice, think of and enjoy.

​The Devil is in the Details.

If you would like to book a reading you may find me here.

In peace, strength and love.
Juhl xx

---