It’s said that if you venture out of the city, beyond the clock’s chimes and calendar’s rule, where the lines begin to bend and twist like branches, you’ll find her. Hair blonde, face gentle, the magic Lesha walks with is one of ancient melodies and ancestral chants. If at night your dreams whisper of another way, to highlight the inordinate boredom that deep down troubles you - you may her song call. You may find her. 

You must relinquish attachment to the reverence of punctuality though. Put behind you the world of stress. The roads built straight, nature bulldozed and banished by concrete. You must exhale that world from your body. The one where buildings tower over the earth, boxes stacked for your body to squash into. Where grey skies hum a technological white noise through the air. Accompanied by the beep of phones, and growl of traffic. The clock-conducted world where an hourly chime clatters into hurried bodies all around, and people run as though living on treadmills that won’t stop. 

When you find her, the harsh alarm will not wake you. Normalized exhaustion heavy on your shoulders, will slip away and life will arrive in exuberant colour. The day is no longer one that asks you to brace for it. the clock no longer reigns, nor does the calendar rule. To be on time is no longer the greatest form of moral superiority. To be punctual, precise and predictable in nature, no longer the greatest merit for praise. 

Find the place where the paths are winding, and the grass grows long. People speak of it often, but very few venture there. It’s said Lesha found it first. Lulled by daydreams of the forest, she followed it’s call. Whilst people in their spare time, sat in little boxes, watched TV screens and drank bottles of alcohol to pacify the turmoil of their non-stop minds, Lesha turned to her loved one, Ty. Her heart a strange concoction of knotted and curious, she asked, “Have you heard of the place where the grass grows long?”

“Yes” Ty smiled, a special kind of glimmering smirk “The wind has told me about it before, on many of my long walks. I’ve never found it though. Why do you ask?”

“I feel it calling” Lesha revealed, “Every night in my dreams, it gets louder.” She felt safe to share this curiosity, held in the presence and support of her loved one.

“I think it’s your time” he grinned, “And I think I have a clue for you.

“Really? A clue?”

“Yes, I was told by the wind that to find it, you have to take a walk to the cairn of lost ways. I’m told that many have been in its presence, but most don’t notice it and walk right by.”

Lesha felt a recognition in Ty’s words. As though he spoke a language that she once spoke, that time had washed away from her tongue. She threw a scrunched nose to him in gratitude. “Thank you, Ty. For your courage to adventure, and all the ways you walk with the wind.”

Ty grinned, a boy and a man all rolled into one, he said to her clearly, “You’re gonna find it. I know you are. And when you do, you must introduce yourself to the stones, and sit with them. They will show you the way.” 

Lesha flowed into the rest of that day with Ty’s words in her pockets. Deciding to walk, she allowed her feet to guide her. Out of the city, through the suburbs, all the way to a place she had never spent time in before. With a new slowness about her she began to notice new things. The song of birds that had always been drowned by technology’s boom, the special kind of sparkle in the air. On the side of a very straight and ordinary road, she saw a small gate, wood weathered by storms and abandon. Framed each side with overgrown hedges, a stirring in Lesha’s belly told her this was the way. 

The gate didn’t creak as she opened it. Unexpectedly smooth, it glided, as though it had known she was coming. She stepped inside tentatively, met by a rocky winding path. Lesha had never seen anywhere so void of straight lines before and it beckoned her to walk into it. Her steps so smooth she almost glided. All the way to the mouth of the forest, trees rooted deep, reached higher than her eyes could see. Her body was drawn to a mound of stones. Unimportant, but utterly grand also. Imbued with sentiment and an ancient purr. The cairn of lost ways. Ty’s words walking with her, Lesha spoke to the stones. “Hi, my name is Lesha. I’ve come in search of the place where the grass grows long. Might you know the way?”

It’s said a warm breeze encouraged her to rest there. And when she sat with the stones, branches like giant antlers greeted her, ferns and mosses like abstract art danced for her arrival and a symphony of forest noises played. The tweet and chirrup of birdsong, crackle and rustle of nests being built, the croak and squeak of bugs as they played games on the wet forest floor. Lesha allowed her eyes to glide across everything. Slowly. Mesmerized by the fullness and form of this place, so far from anything she ever known, yet so so familiar.

Neck craned to see the twinkle of light through leaves, she drank in the sensory delights of this place. Body more open with every breath. Without hurry her eyes meandered. No clock to be seen. No ticking of time. She fell all the way in. 

Then a spectacular chatter erupted all around her. Life of the forest spread gossip like wildfire from creature to beast. Up ahead, a giant buck stood. Antlers upon its head, regal like a crown, coat shimmering gold. Gentle. Fearless. Blanketed in trust and spurred by a spirit within her, Lesha whispered, “Hello. You’ve been waiting for me, haven’t you?” The buck held stature. An affirmation. A welcome. When it eventually turned, Lesha stood to follow. 

Deeper and deeper, step by step, Lesha journeyed behind the buck all the way to the other side of the forest, where the grass was long and wild-flowers frolicked in colours she had never seen before. A small brook trickled gently. Riverbanks connected by a little wooden bridge. Brown wood rickety, like the fence through which she had entered this world. 

Lesha walked to the small bridge. Sat atop it. The happy trickle and splash of the stream below coaxed her into a meditative state. Tears welled, she whispered a heart-filled thank you to the spirits that surrounded her. Eyes closed, shoulders relaxed, belly soft. She surrendered, cocooned by the bliss and delight. Descent within took her to the beginning. To the place where it all began. To the womb, and the waters. 

Beneath her, the river turned blood red, and across the bridge a small house appeared. Deep red ivy hugged red stone. A thatched auburn roof lazied atop. Chimney emitted swirls of amber smoke into the sky. A giant tree towered over, sturdy and unwavered by the weather-tides. Flowers in the garden now beautiful shades of red instead of the colourful array that was previously there. Peonies, daffodils and roses alike. Spattered across a deep golden-orange grass, they hummed a song of the womb. Had the sky not changed, you might have thought a sparkling sunset that had shifted the colours all around her, but the rays of a bright sun in a blue sky shone down. 

Safe in her body, and curious in spirit, Lesha walked to the small house and knocked. The door swung open to reveal a quaint, but dilapidated room inside. Walls eroded. Leaves and roots of various herbs curled up in jars, tinctures sleeping in bottles, everything spoke to her. The sound of frogs’ song danced through the windows, mixed with what she recognised as the gurgle and giggle of baby’s songs. The forest had brought Lesha to the baby space, where the cosmos swirled in a cauldron that sat in the flames of a little fire. 

Over the years Lesha has nurtured the house and it has grown. Sometimes new doors appear and open to new rooms, filled with the perfect-match magic that she needs for herself, and the community around her. Wild animals run in the garden, gobble up

cheeky-charms to ignite her smiles and shine. They jump in her arms and nibble her toes. One day she was met by chickens and ducks in the yard, eggs filled with more nutrition than you could possibly imagine. 

Now guardian to the little bridge, Lesha guides humans between worlds. If you feel the call to know her, drop into your womb and follow the spirits that reside there. Call to her, and she will arrive to teach you. How to slow your being to the pace of the red river. How to let the spirits speak, to guide you. Stresses and ailments, traumas and tensions, soften with the touch of her hands. Should you need to mourn and cry, Lesha will bless your body with teas, tinctures and elemental blessings. In her presence, bodies open to birth the ancient-new. Women journey to her place in the forest for guidance around fertility and birth. Lesha speaks to the spirit-children that ask to be received, and translates on their behalf. Somatic wisdom weaves through Lesha’s day-to-day, as she nourishes her home and the abundant ecosystem that surrounds her. Still bearing the gifts of a life once lived in the land of lines, Lesha marries the many contradictions of this life. A bridger of worlds.