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Articles/Essays From Pagans

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February 1st. 2019 ...

Paganism and Witchcraft in the Media

September 25th. 2018 ...

Understanding the Unseen

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A Little Magickal History

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Cernunnos: The Darkest Wood in the Moon's Light

On Preconceived Pagan/Wiccan Political Affiliations

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July 26th. 2018 ...

The Importance of Unification: Bringing Together Community Members to Invoke Cohesivity

May 29th. 2018 ...

Wild Mountain Woman: Landscape Goddess

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Nazis Made Us Change Our Name

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Finding Balance: Discipline Wedded to Devotion

November 15th. 2017 ...


September 30th. 2017 ...


August 31st. 2017 ...

The White Goddess: A Seminal Work in the Neo-Wiccan Movement.

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Sin Eaters and Dream Walkers

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On Cursing: Politics and Ethos

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June 1st. 2017 ...

Herbal Astrology

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April 30th. 2017 ...

Tarot Talk: the Knight of Pentacles

March 30th. 2017 ...

Tarot Talk: the Ace of Swords

January 10th. 2017 ...

The Gray of 'Tween

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December 9th. 2016 ...

A Child's First Yule

November 10th. 2016 ...

What Exactly Is Witchcraft?

A Witch in the Bible Belt: Questions are Opportunities

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On Death and Passing: Compassion Burnout in Healers and Shamans

September 11th. 2016 ...

The Shadow of Disgust

August 12th. 2016 ...

When Reality Rattles your Idea of the Perfect Witch

Hungarian Belief in Fairies

Designing a Pagan Last Will and Testament

Past Midnight

July 13th. 2016 ...

What Every Pagan Should Know About Curses

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June 13th. 2016 ...

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May 15th. 2016 ...

Faery Guided Journey

Working with the Elements

April 2nd. 2016 ...

The Fear of Witchcraft

Magic in Sentences

March 28th. 2016 ...

Revisiting The Spiral

Still Practicing

January 22nd. 2016 ...

Coming Out of the Broom Closet

December 20th. 2015 ...

Magia y Wicca

October 24th. 2015 ...

Feeling the Pulse of Autumn

October 16th. 2015 ...

Sacred Lands, Sacred Hearts

September 30th. 2015 ...

The Other-Side

September 16th. 2015 ...

Vegan or Vegetarian? The Ethical Debate

August 6th. 2015 ...

Lost - A Pagan Parent's Tale

July 9th. 2015 ...

Love Spells: The Good, The Bad, and the Ugly

The Magic of Weather

June 7th. 2015 ...

A Pagan Altar

A Minority of a Minority of a Minority

The Consort: Silent Partner or Hidden in Plain Sight?

May 6th. 2015 ...

13 Keys: The Crown of Kether

March 29th. 2015 ...

A Thread in the Tapestry of Witchcraft

March 28th. 2015 ...

On Wiccan Magick, Theurgy, Thaumaturgy and Setting Expectations

March 1st. 2015 ...

Choosing to Write a Shadow Book

February 1st. 2015 ...

Seeker Advice From a Coven Leader

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Manipulation of the Concept of Witchcraft

Pagans All Around Us

Broomstick to the Emerald City

October 20th. 2014 ...

Thoughts on Conjuring Spirits

October 5th. 2014 ...

The History of the Sacred Circle

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Seeking Pagan Lands for Pagan Burials

Creating a Healing Temple

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Article Specs

Article ID: 7543

VoxAcct: 8

Section: words

Age Group: Adult

Days Up: 5,698

Times Read: 7,172

It's Raining, It's Pouring, the Old Man is Snoring...

Author: RuneWolf [a WitchVox Sponsor]
Posted: December 13th. 2003
Times Viewed: 7,172

It's raining like Hel up here in the wilds of Northern Virginia, buckets and buckets of it. A veritable torrential downpour. The wind is clattering the bare tops of the naked trees, and the rain is rattling on the gables. Cats and dogs? Hel, those are wolves and cougars at least, pardner...

I lie swaddled in my bedclothes, listening to the racket outside, reminding myself that it's all a part of nature. Perfectly, well, natural. Nothing at all to worry about.

"...the water...the leaves...the water..."

Yes, the rainwater streaming down, tap-dancing on the dead leaves. Ordinarily a lovely sound. But not tonight. Tonight it's bothering me.

"...the water...the leaves...the water..."

If you listen long enough, you could swear you hear the trees talking, murmuring to themselves as they stand stoically in the teeth of the storm. Murmuring, muttering...cold, wet and grumpy. Only that's not quite it, the words are coming from somewhere else. Somewhere closer...

"...the water...the leaves...the water..."

I flick my ear, as if to shoo away a worrisome fly, roll over, scrunch up the bedclothes, and resolve, this time, to fall bloody asleep.

"...the water...the leaves...the water..."

Of course, there is that pesky drain at the bottom of the side stairwell, the one with the sliding glass door that leads straight into the rec-room. You know, the room with the nice Berber carpet that had a little moisture in the corner after that hussy Isabella came through. But there were leaves down then, and it certainly rained like Hel that night, had to have accumulated more than we ever will tonight. So what's to worry?

"...the water...the leaves...the water..."

I sigh, crack one eye, and regard the interplay of shadows on the wall, listening to the incessant staccato of the downpour.

If something does happen, by some impossible stretch of the imagination, that's going to mean, what? Flooded basement, ruined carpet, clean-up, insurance claim, a day of work missed, at least...yuck. Still, it's a pretty far-fetched notion...the odds are against didn't happen last time.


I sit up and look out the window, listening to the sounds of the storm.

"...the water...the leaves...the water..."

I flop back into bed, roll into the covers, and attempt to bury my head, not in sand, but in dreamland. If I just ignore it, it'll surely go away.

"...the water...the leaves...the water..."

I sit bolt upright in bed. "Shut up!"

"Who are you talking to?" my wife asks, groggy from being woken rudely from a deep sleep.

"Goddamn House Spirits!" I mutter, struggling into my robe in the dark, saving her - and myself - the agony of turning on the light.

"What?" Yeah, I know...sounds crazy to me, too, dear.

"Nothing!" I snap, and stomp out of the bedroom. Quietly, of course - after all, it is the middle of the night.

Down through the living room, grab the flashlight, on into the basement and to the side door.

And I stand there gaping at the stairwell filling with water, the drain clogged by a mass of leaves, the relief holes in the retaining wall spurting water like two demented Renaissance cherubs.

"Well, kiss my sister's black cat's..." I observe to no one in particular, realizing that in the time it has taken me to take this all in, I've lost a good half-inch to the rising tide. It takes me a little while longer to get fully cranked up - and to get my wife out of bed - but soon the bail buckets are flying. We got there not a moment too soon - another ten minutes, and it would have been over the edge of the doorsill and into the basement.

Once we get the level down, we attack the real culprit, the leaves mounded against the retaining wall that are somehow funneling water down behind it to the relief holes-cum-rainspouts. It takes about an hour, all tolled, and is cold, wet, muddy work. But in the end, we manage to restore some semblance of normal operation to the drainage scheme, the Berber is saved, and...

I don't hear the little voices anymore. Rather, I hear a sort of smug, self-satisfied silence. An expectant sort of silence.

Now, you can tell yourself, as I tried to, that it had nothing to do with "House Spirits," or "benevolent entities" or anything like that. It could all be explained in rational terms - the unconscious mind worrying at a problem that it knew it could and should solve, following the chain of logic to its inevitable conclusion, refusing to let the conscious mind rest until it had its say. All very proper, Jungian stuff.

But that wouldn't account for the nagging feeling that I owed somebody something.

We clean up the tools and ourselves, and start the long climb back up to the bedroom. But halfway up the last set of stairs, I stop. I turn around and go back to the kitchen. I root around in the cabinets and the fridge, raising such a clatter that my wife finally calls down, "What are you doing NOW?"

"Nothing! Go to sleep!" We have such a communicative relationship, my Sweetie and I.

I hike back down to the basement, and check the stairwell once more. Draining like a champ.

Then I turn and raise the plate in my hand, to no one in particular.

"We offer this, with thanks, to our friends who stood the watch and raised the alarm, when we would have slept the night away into disaster. We offer this, with thanks, to our friends who stood with us against the mischief of wind and water, and who helped to protect this home that shelters us all. I have no milk to give tonight, but I do have cake, and honey and sweet whipped cream! May you enjoy - you have certainly earned it."

I set the plate down, and head off to bed, reasonably certain that I can get to sleep at last.

Sure, you could explain it all rationally. But why bother?




Location: Reston, Virginia

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