Welcome friends.
I welcome you and invite you.
To walk with me.
Today we walk together.
Along the ancient paths.
Of the new forest in Hampshire,
England.
Will travel together.
Through this landscape.
Of Heathland.
Woodland.
And old magic.
The New Forest is a place where much folklore still feels very close to the surface.
And if we're lucky.
You might encounter it.
Faced fae.
The paths are ancient.
The trees are ancient.
And if sometimes it feels as though the stories are still walking beside us.
It's because they do.
With hoof print and paw print.
In root and stone and bloom.
And as I follow this trail,
I come across the sea.
One of the forest's most familiar residents.
But no less magical for it.
Pale ponies.
Standing quietly beside the path.
But I must tell you.
In the traditions of Hampshire.
And neighbouring Dorset,
Somerset and Wiltshire.
There is a being known as the Colt Pixie.
A mischievous spirit said to take the form of a pale horse or pony.
Occult pixie may call to you.
Neighing or wickering.
Used to draw other horses.
And sometimes they're riders.
Off the safe paths.
The colt pixie may delight in leading travellers astray from their chosen walk.
Sometimes into the bogs and mires.
Or into confusion.
To be pixie-led.
Or sometimes.
They may simply wish to lead you into unexpected adventures.
As I watch the beauty.
Of ponies who may or may not.
Also be pixie.
I find myself wondering.
If the old story.
May speak to us still.
Speak to us of both magical horses.
And of life itself.
All of us at one time or another.
May find ourselves led astray.
From our past.
A distraction.
A fear,
A doubt.
A voice telling us we should be somewhere else.
Doing something else or being someone else.
The path remains beneath our feet.
Waiting,
Perhaps,
For us to notice it again.
As I did.
This pale poly a fond farewell.
I continue walking.
And the forest holds me.
You the tall trees softening the noises of the outside world.
And the trail stretches ever onwards.
You we may often search for magic.
In distant places.
We imagine it must be hidden somewhere extraordinary.
Somewhere we haven't reached yet.
But perhaps the real magic is much closer than that.
Perhaps it is found in paying attention.
Of watching the sunlight fall through ferns and branches.
The same.
Of pine trees.
The call of birdsong.
An unexpected encounter that makes you smile.
You Perhaps that is the gift of the cult,
Pixie.
Not to lead us astray.
But encourage us to open our eyes to wonder.
To notice where we are.
To choose our direction mindfully.
And to remain open to wonder.
Wherever we may find it.
Take time if you wish.
To reflect on your own past.
Right now.
Not where you think you should be.
But where you are.
Can you perhaps?
Imagine the possibility.
That beauty.
Wisdom and even a little magic.
Might be waiting just around the corner.
Old stories and reminders.
The world is alive with mystery.
And weather the colt pixie.
Is a spirit.
Story.
Or simply a curious pony in the new forest.
Perhaps a message for us is the same.
Walk your own path.
Stay awake to wonder.
And keep your eyes open.
For the multitude of small magic.
That are all around you.
Thank you.
Walkers and wayfarers.
For journeying with me today.
