(Poetry) The White Horse in the Oak Grove by Frances Guerin

The first moments of falling in love

with the landscape of Daylesford

began as I entered the land on Porcupine Ridge.

In a grove of oak trees stood a white horse

that galloped over to nuzzle my hand,

The Italian woman on the property next door

said, watch that horse, he’s always frisky.

At the back of the house was a large wooded area

that emerged onto a field with

a panoramic view across to Mt Alexander Leanganook

In the golden summer grass

was an exquisite natural spring

bordered by soft green algae and reeds

abuzz with luminescent dragon flies.

Gazing into the spring

I did not know that the underground stream,

the river beneath the river

flowed all the way to the wellspring

of the Shannon River in Ireland

connecting me home with an unstoppable force.

I did not know then

that the white horse in the oak grove

was an Irish creation story called the Oran Mor,

which tells of the spiralling melody

emerging from the abyss

creating a white mare from the sea foam

that gave birth to Cernunnos, under a mighty oak tree

I did not know then

that I had entered the otherworld

It takes so long to shake off personal story

holding me prisoner, that seems real

fretting and fearing and trying to fit in

and make a living

when all along the mighty force of the first song

was carrying me with an ancestral lineage

back to the dawn of time

the first people who watched the sun rise and set 

wondering at the mystery of it all

Marking the turn of the seasons with ritual

and carving the first melody

as a triple spiral into massive stones

They knew that birth was tuned to the moon

and sang around sacred springs to conceive.

that song still waits to be heard.

In Hepburn Shire most springs are surrounded

in circular stonework made by homesick early settlers

who knew

that the water running over

bright green moss and fallen eucalyptus leaves

with sulphur colouring the stone to rust

could heal them.

Meet Mago Contributor Frances Guerin