Willow and the Turning Wheel

Willow has always loved visiting Grandma Bamble’s cottage at the edge of the wild woods. It was tucked between an old mossy oak and a singing stream, and its garden buzzed with bees and secrets.

One spring morning, Grandma handed Willow a small wooden trowel with excitement all over her face . “The Earth is waking,” she said, “and it’s time we do too.”

Together they knelt in the soft soil. Grandma showed her how to plant seeds with love, whispering to them as if they were old friends.

“What do we whisper to carrots?” Willow asked holding a few in her palm.

“That they’ll be strong and sweet,” Grandma smiled. “Each plant listens, you know.”

As they worked, Grandma told Willow about the Wheel of the Year — a great turning circle that followed the sun, the seasons, and the soul. Allowing everything to live in tune with nature and Mother Earth.

“In spring, at Ostara, we plant and plan. Everything begins again.”

Willow saw tiny sprouts pushing through the soil like little green dreams.

At Beltane, they danced barefoot under blooming apple trees and made flower crowns for the bees.

“The Earth is alive and buzzing,” Grandma laughed.

In summer, at Litha, the sun stood tall and golden. Willow watered herbs and harvested strawberries warm from the sun.

“We honor the light,” Grandma said, “and all that’s growing within us.”

Then came Lughnasadh, the first harvest. Oh how They celebrated all their hard work, by baking honey bread and thanked the grain.

“We reap what we’ve sown,” Grandma told her.

As the days cooled, Willow helped gather squash and corn. At Mabon, they gave thanks for the garden’s gifts and left apples for the forest spirits.

At Samhain, they lit candles and told stories of their ancestors. “The veil is thin,” Grandma whispered. “Even the trees remember their names.”

In winter, the garden slept beneath frost and snow. At Yule, they lit a fire and placed evergreen on the hearth.

“Even in the dark, the wheel turns,” said Grandma, “and the light will return.”

Willow watched the year spin in color, in root and bloom. She saw how every season had its magic, just like every part of her.

By spring, Willow was ready. She held her trowel steady, pressed seeds into the warming Earth, and smiled.

The wheel was turning again.

And this time, Willow turned with it.

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