1. |
In the Shade of Irminsul
05:53
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Under ancient oak, ferns unfurl
in the shade of Irminsul,
A hollow body,
that holds history of these lands under it's skin,
the rings of time.
In this hallowed grove, an obelisk, an altar,
grown from sacred seed,
horde of corvus within it's arms
life grows, in the shade of Irminsul.
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2. |
The Evening Rain
03:58
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3. |
Where Wild Rabbits Run
06:41
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A prismatic mist, refracting sunlight into it's pale colours, casting shivelight onto the late season oaks that scatter the heathland groves,
through the mist a watchful peregrine soars, in it's eye the weary hare who retreats into his warren under the roots of a hundred gnarled oaks, bound into one, connected through the rich heathland clay.
Run over the hills and through the trees, past the gentle winding creek, through bramble thicket so rampant and blinding,
to take cover under the remaining woodland canopy,
to mourn a homeland, once so prosperous and green.
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4. |
Eardstapa (The Wanderer)
05:22
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Swept away in that ever-changing tide,
the thoughts I spin, lost to the waves,
muffled voice of the oak tree, whispering through our heathlands,
carrying with it the leaves that fell,
I walk these white hills of chalk and clay,
carrying with me the nostalgia of a thousand forests,
through which the same wind blows, reminding me of home.
The harrowing cries of a storm gushing through a steep valley,
breathing life into the surrounding ferns,
the ghastly mist that rises from wealdan river, reaching for the apex of the tallest pine tree, an ethereal beauty that cannot be replaced.
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5. |
Wealden Clay
05:07
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Heavy downpour soaks the thirsting pastures,
trodden down by grazing cattle,
As the rain drops hit the earth,
creating ripples in the clay,
covering the surrounding shrubbery in wealden dust,
A dust that paints the land a pale sepia.
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6. |
Woven Willow & Twine
02:46
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7. |
Over the River Bank
05:23
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Branches break, against forceful winds,
in the eye of the storm,
river flowing, over the banks
birds flying, search for cover
eye of the storm,
pallid and grey,
sound of wind, rushing through the lands,
trees are fallen, on the path
wailing forest, still you stand
in the face of chaos,
rivers that wind like snakes through the downland,
weaving their way in and out of hedges,
to bite at the pale emerald sea.
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Hemlokk England, UK
Heathen Black Metal / Neofolk project of Æthelheid.
From Wessex, on the South Coast of England.
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