There is a hedge at the edge of the Far field— a rambling, tangled thing, grown thick with honeysuckle and hazel and old secrets. Some hedges mark the end of a field. Others, the beginning of a story. This one, I think, belongs to the latter, Though it remains untold for now, held between land and air.

The imaginal and the worldly share this hour equally and it does not feel settled. The land itself listens, both to the ground here and to what lies beyond the hedge. The Old Burrow does not claim these shadowed lands nor do they claim the Old Burrow.

Ribbons and prayers are tied in the usual way though it is not certain who, or what tied them - I suspect some among them maybe rabbits because of the proximity to the ground.

And she, with her large eyes, belongs to both worlds - a threshold keeper who dreams more than she wakes.