Over the hills and faraway lies Moonhollow, a village which rests (and sometimes dances) at the very edge of the fields we know;  a liminal space, a sangha and a fey community of  narrow cobblestone streets, strange architecture, leaning chimneys and houses which are much bigger inside than they appear from outside. The village does not appear on any known map or in any atlas; nor can it be  reached by conventional modes of travel  - one must arrive on foot as a traveller, a seeker of truth, a weary exile, or sometimes as a fugitive.   Moonhollow is not easily discovered, and finding it is purely a matter of luck, happenstance, serendipitous experience or enlightenment.  Chances are that if one suddenly finds herself here, she was out walking, came over the brow of  the hill  and found herself  looking down at a village where she expected to see a farmer's field, a grove of beech trees, or merely a country road winding into the distance.

One senses something strange and wonderful about this place from the beginning, as if time has ceased to be linear and has become exquisitely circular again, as if every possibility in the universe has come together and has been rolled up into a vast glowing cosmic ball, as if anything at all is possible and something truly magical is about to happen.

Now it is twilight, and the lights in the village have come on. There is much to see in the village, even at this time of day, the wonderful old houses with their slate roofs, the cobblestone village square, the ancient smithy (working), a holy well, a hestia, a stupa, a stone circle or two and even a turf  labyrinth. Wandering through the streets, one smells wood smoke and sees firelight through the lead paned windows; one hears clinking glasses, the music of pan pipes, dancing feet (or paws or hooves) and lilting voices raised in song.  Do you understand the language of our song?  We may be singing in Pali, Cornish, Breton or even Elvish, for we know many of the old tongues, and our speech is indeed musical.

The residents of Moonhollow are comely and hospitable folk, but they are not quite like anyone you have ever met before or will meet again (unless you stay).  There are spellsingers, crones, warriors and tricksters here; there are  shape shifters, poets, painters and gypsies here; there are hedgewitches, pipers, dryads and dragons. The village of Moonhollow is a haven for species which the great wide world has long forgotten, for those souls who have been battered and bruised by life, for the lonely ones who have never found love or acceptance out in the fields we know.

If your taste runs to the puckish, the fey and the whimsical, if you converse with birds and animals or occasionally forget yourself and howl (or change into something else entirely) during a stimulating conversation, there is a place for you here.  If you are bruised, weary at heart and longing for rest, there is a place for you here.  If you are a fugitive from the great wide world longing for a place of sanctuary, there is a place for you here.  If you find yourself here, then whether you know it or not, oh Traveller, you have been looking for this place for a long time, and we have been waiting for you.  Enter......

 
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