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The squirrels have nipped these bundles of new leaves and catkins from a big Red Oak in my neighborhood. I don’t know why, maybe they wanted the sap that would drip from the wounds, or to dine on some of the buds.

I gathered up a handful from the base of the tree, and set them on waxed paper to dry. I’ll save them and the golden dust of pollen that fell from them, and perhaps I’ll offer them up to the Vanic powers of life and regeneration, or to the secretive Wights that dwell in oak-woods.

I could also use the oak-flowers and pollen for magic, maybe for wealth or abundance or fertile fields, since the pollen is bright like gold and is the male-seed of the tree.

Or, I could mix some pollen into a formula for a golden yellow ink of Arte. A bundle of catkins could be put into a charm-bag, or buried in the ground, or a dozen other things I’m sure, limited only by the imagination of the Witch.

 

 

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