Given it is a New Moon Eclipse, perhaps there ought to be a story of a Hidden Sun, but I have long realised, I don’t get to make the rules when it comes to what wants to move in and through and out of me. The Hidden or Buried or Dead (this one I still haven’t figured out) Moon is a traditional folk tale unique to Lincolnshire - never ever let anyone tell you otherwise. It suddenly felt a little bit important to share with you the recording of it that I made at the Summer Solstice. It might have been last year, or the year before. Somehow my mind is reluctant to clarify. Regardless, it was captured as I sat in my most beloved place by Crow Cottage, having wandered through the Gap in the Old Stone Wall here in Rutland (don’t look for it on a map, you probably won’t find it), speaking the story with the peoples that live hereabouts. I dedicate it to our grandmothers, wherever they now reside, to their fortitude and grit, for how they have shown up in the world, and all that had to be discarded so we might begin the possibility of our own lives deep, deep, deep in their bellies.