The ancient festival of Beltane has always been special to me. As I child, I was caught by its magic when my grandfather first read me the story of ‘Borrobil‘, where two children walk between the Beltane fires and are whisked away into a land of myth, magic and the obligatory dragon.

For years afterwards, every time the number seventy-seven bus passed the conical hill on the way to town, we would talk about Beltane. I learned its legends and traditions, and more than any other of the festivals of the turning of the year, this one is close to my heart, rooted, as it is, in fond memories.

Over the years, I have celebrated Beltane in many ways and in many places. I have danced around a Maypole, weaving the ribbons in the pattern of life. Joined a spiral dance in the streets of Oxford.  Seen…