When Hel is walking through the waters, roses bloom in the dark, roots turn and sniff for more.
A goddess, a place, a state: final destination made divine. The most scary thing made holy. Holy as rotting corps are holy.
What do we do with Death? Death goddess whispers sound advice, to faint for us to hear.
Autumn is here: season of the witch: holy times, the time of Hel.
Photograph by Michael Peter Langevin