Wet leaves, musky black feathers, slow vetiver, a stiff branch, the slow death-creep of Autumn, a fussy Underworld messenger.
On the stiff twig up there
Hunches a wet black rook
Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain.
I do not expect a miracle
Or an accident
To set the sight on fire
In my eye, not seek
Any more in the desultory weather some design,
But let spotted leaves fall as they fall,
Without ceremony, or portent.
- Sylvia Plath, Wet Black Rook in Rainy Weather
Available in Stick Incense (20), 1 oz Votives (3), Wax Melts and Perfume.
Illustrations by Alex MoeHagen.