Celtic Myth PodshowContact
Howl at the Wolf
P.O. Box 3145
Lake Arrowhead
mark@lonewolfsageco.com
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On the final day, a scourge of wind and fire shall descend from the skies, and all creation shall be laid low.
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- Snow-Flakes (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
Out of the bosom of the Air
Out of the cloud-folds of her garments shaken,
Over the woodlands brown and bare,
Over the harvest-fields forsaken,
Silent, and soft, and slow
Descends the snow.
Even as our cloudy fancies take
Suddenly shape in some divine expression,
Even as the troubled heart doth make
In the white countenance confession
The troubled sky reveals
The grief it feels.
This is the poem of the air,
Slowly in silent syllables recorded;
This is the secret of despair,
Long in its cloudy bosom hoarded,
Now whispered and revealed
To wood and field.
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- Snow-Flakes (Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)
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She is I thik 3 podcast out I have herd great things about her work. and trying to get to hers but I will.
Great list of podcast audio stories- but I was wondering if you have listened to Pip Ballentine’s books?