On a hot Spring day, I’m walking through the open woodland pasture, zig zagging my path to stay mostly in the shade. Spying a spreading May tree in full bloom standing quite on its own on a little hillock, looking even more resplendent than Hockney’s ‘Arrival of Spring in Woldgate’, I make for its inviting cover. The May tree or Hawthorn has a rich folklore and is strongly associated with Beltane, the festival of Spring. In Ireland especially, the May tree is also known as the Faerie Tree as it is said to guard the entrance to the realm of the fae folk, the Otherworld. To harm the May tree is still traditionally believed to invite disastrous consequences.
In the midday heat, the cool shade of the tree draws me irresistibly to it. And I certainly don’t wish the tree any harm. Lying down on the welcoming green sward under the tree, dizzy with the May blossom’s rich scent, my head feels as if it’s swimming. Bees buzz lazily above me and an aromatic scent in the turf where I’m lying feels intoxicating. I must have dozed off for a minute as I become aware of hearing a voice speaking to me – it must be to me, as there’s no one else anywhere around. I can’t see the speaker clearly since my sleepy vision seems weirdly misty, but it’s not an unfriendly voice. As I’m feeling so relaxed on the ground, I’m strangely content just to lie there and listen. The voice is unlike any I could place; I couldn’t say whether male or female; at once gentle and melodic yet grounded in wild earthy power.
“Where have you gone? You’ve withdrawn from us, the fae folk, and from all the many creatures of the woods, fields and rivers. Don’t you remember when we would all converse and live together in a respectful relationship? It pains us all greatly how you’ve turned your back on your wider kin – and worse: you don’t even realise that you’ve withdrawn from the Earth, and now you seem to think that you’re the sole point and purpose of Creation.”
“What a terrible state of affairs! Just the other day, some of us fae folk were convening with our community: the blackbirds, hedgehogs, foxes, badgers, water voles and the numerous other beings; and they all lamented this sorry predicament and said that they miss you. We’re all diminished because of this, as are you too, though you don’t yet realise it. These days, only an occasional young human girl or boy seems to remember and feel connected with their more extended family. You’ve disappeared into your dwellings and into your devilish little devices that you stare at all the time, while ignoring the silvery moon, the life-giving breath of the wind, the sparkle of spring leaves and the song of the skylark.”
I listen as if stunned and find myself quite incapable of replying. And then the voice fades and my vision begins to clear. I sit up groggily and realise that I must have been fast asleep and dreaming. I look around and up at the sheltering May tree. In the branches above, a blackbird sits with his head cocked towards me; he regards me with an enigmatic look. Does he know? Remembering my manners, I quietly whisper a greeting to my fine feathered friend and take my leave.
