Heuldro Gaeaf
It was a magical, mysterious and demanding adventure to perform in Gwydyr Forest in the middle of winter, but after experiencing the Labyrinth myself in 2005 I knew that I really wanted to be part of Cynefin's amazing work in bringing human beings into close contact with the beauty of nature.
The weather of the Conwy Valley really challenged us to show what we were made of, for rehearsing and building the cosy shelters to which our audience would come took place during some of the worst floods the valley had suffered.
The first week of performances was wet too, but the people still came - some of them had visited the Labyrinth each time Cynefin appeared there and were eager to return. For others, including many of the children who came, it was a first visit.
For me, too, it was a first; preparing my tipi to create a warm haven for visitors each night by sweeping the slate floor, lighting the brazier and setting my copper kettle to warm the spiced apple tea I offered to each visitor.
Waiting for the first comers to travel round the labyrinth to reach me, which took over an hour, for I was at the most distant curve of the path, I gradually became one with the forest, the sky, the darkness - and my character of Baba Yaga, the mythical witch of the Russian forests, who terrifies but also advises and guides the brave hearts who answer her demands without fear.
To each group of travelers, some nervous, some eager, some loud and brash, others respectful, I offered my hot tea, and spoke with them first in Russian, then in English and Welsh, asking them riddles and telling them the story which felt right for the people, the place and the time, before sending them on their way with a gift, which they were bound not to look at until the right time came.
The last week was a magical time of bright nights, gleaming frost and crunching paths. The starlight alone was bright enough to find one's way about the Labyrinth. I felt more and more at peace. On Christmas Eve, my fire glowing and the kettle simmering, I went out to walk the wide sweep of the Labyrinth under those brilliant stars, before my first visitors arrived. As I walked I sang, and the bell-like notes of Megan Broadmeadow's trumpet answered me from her yurt further along the path. Exchanging voice and trumpet notes, we sent Christmas carols back and forth between us, unseen by each other, but connected by sweet sound, and our intention. It was a fitting metaphor for the power of the Labyrinth, and a memory I shall treasure.
The magic of the Labyrinth is there for all who come to walk it, but when the storytellers, poets, dancers and musicians people it, it truly comes alive.
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