Welcome to Litsy!

This is a delightful little book that is perfect for pagan families and anyone who loves green spaces, growing things. Lucy‘s grandfather tells her the story of Lob, the ancient ‘Green Man‘; she learns to garden and has a deep respect for nature. She learns that he is never far, but always drawn to the wild places. There are also lessons about not trying to control nature; death and rebirth. Magic can be found everywhere, if you look for it.

(Shown: a photo I took in Bonneau Ferry). Even if you haven‘t seen Lob, you‘ll probably see a Green Man, if you look, or sometimes a Green Woman. They‘re masked or caped or hooded in leaves. You might see one carved in a church doorway, looking out at you from stems and leaves of stone. They‘re everywhere. You might find one on a pub sign, or catch a glimpse of a face in the trees. You‘ll quite often meet them in gardens, of course; they like⬇️

The richness of dug soil. Earth and dampness and grass and growing. Shoots and stalks and new leaves; the promise of tight-furled buds. The scritch of something pecking in the shadows under a rhubarb plant. Garden magic. The spell of it, deep and strong. All around, flowing into her. Lucy breathed it all in. She heard a blackbird singing. She was dizzied. Oh, she had forgotten! How good it made her feel, how here and now and alive…

Today was grey and cool. Feeling the first drops of rain, he tilted his face to the sky. Harder and harder it rained. Drops plinked from leaf to leaf. Water pit-patted, gutters gurgled. Flowers and shrubs reached out and drank, and were thankful. But the people – how stupid they were when it rained! They seemed horrified. Instead of standing out in it to be watered and refreshed, they squealed and ran for cover. Some held up umbrella-sticks ⬇️

Oh yes, there‘s always been Lob. He‘s hundreds and hundreds of years old, old as the hills. He won‘t die, he‘ll go on and on living, as long as the Earth is green. Green fingered, that‘s Lob. Lob‘s got greener fingers than anyone. What he does is, he collects seeds and keep them in his pockets. Then he scatters them as he walks. That‘s why you sometimes see wildflowers sprouting out of pavements and walls. Lob-work.

Lob was older than anyone could know. Not as old as the hills, but much older than the trees. Not as old as life, but much older than anyone living. Not as old as death, but far, far older than anyone born. Although he lived in a lot of different places, he didn‘t change willingly.

He‘s made of rain and wind. And sun and hail. And light and dark. There‘s fire in him, too, and earth and air. He‘s made of grit and stones and stargust. And time gone and time waiting. Come to think of it, that‘s the same as all of us.