Dusk was falling and mist rising as I drove sadly across the Somerset Levels – a liminal place which once formed the huge marshy lake out of which the Isle of Avalon majestically rose. When I rounded a bend to see a large swan walking straight up the centre of the road in the same direction I was going, my first thought was for its safety. I expected it to take flight or veer off at any moment, but the swan continued on its path, seemingly determined to walk just where it was. The road was narrow and all I could do was respectfully follow until it widened a little, eventually managing to squeeze carefully past before starting to flash my headlamps at oncoming traffic to warn them of the swan’s unlikely presence.
Only later that evening did I remember the last time I saw such a stately walk in front of a moving vehicle – when a formally-dressed funeral director led off the hearse which carried my father from his home and on his last journey in this world. I was thunderstruck. Could the swan be marking this new loss, making me mindful and slowing me down? Continue reading “Death of a Priestess by Geraldine Charles”
Feminism and Religion 