Imagine waking in the hour before dawn, rising in the cool darkness – no electricity, no gaslights, just the stars and what’s left of the moon, and perhaps a candle to light your room. You pull on your clothes, no sound but that of your feet shuffling and the ruffling of fabric. You put on your shoes and grab a bucket and head out in the darkness. You walk down the road, the air chilled and moist. If you pass someone, you nod your head but don’t dare to speak. Their footsteps shuffle away, and the scent of cold earth and dew fills your nostrils as you continue on your way. Soon, you hear the faint trickling of a creek. You come to the edge of it, and the faint light glints on the ripples as you dip your bucket down into the freezing water. You pull it up again, and it’s heavier than before. The faint light glints silver on that, too, almost as if you’ve captured some of the stars in it. Then you head home, the water sloshing softly in the bucket, and still you don’t speak until dawn breaks on the horizon.
A woman with a heavy heart puts a hymn book under her pillow, wakes in the night, marks a random page, and in the morning reads what comes under her eyes: what thoughts she finds therein, such will be the fate of her kin, e.g. if it is opened to her about death, the child will die; if about the cross, the child will suffer; if a joyful song, his life will be joyful.
If the pregnant woman steals anything: her child will be a thief.
The scented flower shall not be borne by the mother: lest then the child’s mouth should stink.
Water drunk after sunset: it shall remain in the womb until birth.
A child born with long hair on his head: he will die soon; with hair on his hands: he will be rich; flesh in the corners of his eyes: long life for him means; a born curly-haired child: he will be rich; if in his eye objects appear in reverse, or who is born with teeth right away: a fortune-teller will be made of him, and he will see treasures under the earth.
Money, pen, and egg put into the first bath: signify may, art, and a pretty voice.
The seventh son of the same parents: be happy in planting trees and healing diseases.
If a woman or a man steal of the money which the godparents throw into the brandy of the godchild, that child shall grow up to be a great robber.
On the day of baptism, I do not bathe the child at home in the evening: lest he die.
The bed (die Nachgeburt) is buried under a green tree by a woman: that mothers may be healthy and fruitful.
Thou shalt not rock an empty cradle, thou shalt not let a stranger’s child into it: for it takes away thy child’s dream.
If it is still shaking, pour the molten lead over the rods and brooms into the cape filled with water over the child’s head.
A piece for Lammas this year. I don’t subscribe to the Celtic calendar, but of course I subscribe to the concept of a harvest season. I seek above all my own words to describe my experiences.
