''The elf-queene, with hir joly compaignie, Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede.” Geoffrey Chaucer "The Wife of Bath’s Tale"


It's a beautiful  morning here in my patch of the Ozarks.  The cool temps are a reminder that Fall is on the way and revives old memories of other times as WiseWoman, living close to the Earth.  Whether alone in a hut or Lady of the manor with family and servants, she laid in provisions to last until spring. . . this tapped  Far Memories as châtelaine with husband gone to the Crusades.  With pilgrims at the gate to feed and rumors of *the sickness (the plague?), she worries if there will be enough food  and  hearing there are bandits nearby she stations more guards (albeit they're old men and boys) and  Wards the boundaries, with a special emphasis to the Holy Ground of the chapel as refuge for those old, sick and the young if needed.  As for herself, *she will fight next to her son, the young Prince - warrior Mother warrior Son.  With roof-thatch to mend, food to dry, seeds to store, medicinal herbs to gather and firewood to be cut,  she oversees her small tribe of children, staff and villagers she's responsible for, never stopping until bells ring for Vespers.  Behind all that is the constant refrain with every beat of her heart, "Is he safe -is he well - when will he return to us"? 
*the sickness -- I think it was the plague-
* "she will fight next to her son, the young Prince, warrior Mother warrior son" came with a rush of  deep wrenching emotion, part of the vision. He's about 12yrs old, wearing a tunic with a Templar Cross insignia like his Fathers, and he is my son now as well.