The Green Witch and Her Poet

A creative approach to working with dreams

“Autumn Spirits” by Romany Soup Art

“The Earth has music for those who listen.” ~ William Shakespeare

Dear Reader,

Have you ever had a dream so vibrant it lingers long after you wake? One that whispers in your ear for days, decades even, nudging you to uncover its secrets? This week, I had such a dream – a gift from my psyche waiting to be unwrapped.

For me, one of the best ways to work with dreams is through a creative approach, such as poetry and storytelling. This quiet Sunday morning, I’m unpacking the deeper meaning of my dream, gently shaping its contours into this short story.

As its rich symbolism and dialogue naturally emerge, I find myself immersed in an archetypal world. It feels as though I’m uncovering a secret language – one my Jungian lens helps me unravel. My story will conclude with a brief dream analysis.

The Green Witch and Her Poet

One spring afternoon, the first of many walks began. The poet, barely eighteen, with hair as wild as the untamed sea and eyes that held the promise of uncharted worlds, stood awkwardly by an oak tree in the park. A green witch, with mossy tendrils woven into her silver braids and a lifetime of seasons whispering in her soul, approached him with quiet wonder. He clutched a weathered notebook, its pages yearning for purpose, while she carried the wisdom of earth’s ancient secrets, waiting to bloom.

“Do you write?” she asked, her voice soft like leaves unfolding in the breeze, as her eyes lingered on the notebook.

He nodded slightly, his gaze flitting to the ground. “I try. The words … they scatter like petals in the wind.”

“Ah,” she said with a knowing smile, “then perhaps I can teach you to catch them, as one gathers falling leaves before they drift away.”

He raised his head, curiosity lighting his face. “How?”

“It begins with stillness,” she replied, her voice as steady as the earth’s pulse. “You must learn to hear whispers before the wind, silence between the waves. Only then can you catch what wants to slip away.”

From that day on, they walked trails of forgotten forests and winding seaside paths. They spoke little, for the air between them was filled with the hum of growing things and the cadence of poetry. Words, when they came, rippled like spells in a sacred glade, dissolving into laughter or fragments of musings. There was no haste – only the intertwining of souls.

One bright morning, sunlight danced across the leaves as he plucked a fern frond glistening with dew. “Why must we always become something for someone else?” he asked, his voice as pensive as the woodland quiet. For a moment, he seemed like an ancient spirit in mortal guise, seeking truths she had only begun to know.

"Perhaps," she replied, "we’re already enough – simply by being."

Slowly, he began to write. He brought her scraps of lines caught just before they scattered, and she helped him piece them together like a mosaic. His poetry was raw, brimming with wild beauty, like the first rose after a storm. When doubt clouded his mind, she grounded him. When he resisted, she stood back and let him grow freely, like a vine finding its path.

Months later, as the sky burned with autumn’s fire, he placed a finished poem in her hands. His words shimmered, speaking of fleeting and eternal moments, of connections that defied time, of a green witch and a poet, reflecting each other.

She felt a catch in her throat as she read. “It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

He smiled, a blend of pride and shyness lighting his face. “It’s yours.”

And somewhere, in the spaces between their steps and words, an alchemy had blossomed. Tender and eternal, it lingered – not bound by age or convention, not meant to be claimed. It simply was a deep understanding, a union of spirits that touched the infinite.

In the end, it wasn’t about what could have been or what never would be. It was about the grace of the present, like petals scattered on the wind – the fleeting moments when two souls brush against eternity and walk away, forever changed.

Dream Interpretation Through a Jungian Lens

Dreams are not just stories; they are expressions of the unconscious, rich with symbols and universal themes. Archetypes reflect shared human experiences, ideas, emotions and cultural narratives.

The poet in this dream reflects my animus – Jung’s term for the inner masculine figure within a woman’s psyche. He embodies creativity, intellect and vitality. By nurturing his words and helping him shape his verses, I connected deeply with my own creative essence, allowing myself to metaphorically flower.

Each dream character represents an archetype with complementary energies. The green witch embodies wisdom and intuition rooted in nature, while the poet reflects youthful vitality and boundless creativity. Their meeting symbolises an internal harmony where insight intertwines with renewal.

Writing this story has been my way to honour their connection: the green witch’s grounding wisdom and her poet’s untamed passion. Together, these archetypes remind me of the creative alchemy that arises when growth and spontaneity meet, intuition blends with discovery, and love quietly permeates sacred unions.

I sense that this dream invites me to keep walking with words, guided by the green witch’s depth and the poet’s spark of inspiration – a profound expression of creative transformation.

Of course, there’s much more symbolism to explore: the colour green evokes growth and the heart chakra; the forest represents mystery and renewal; and the cycles of spring and autumn reflect the Maiden and Crone – youthful potential meeting seasoned wisdom. These elements illuminate the dream’s invitation for growth and renewal.

By tapping into our deepest thoughts, dreams bring hidden truths and treasures to light. No wonder artists turn their dreams into masterpieces – whether a poem, story, painting, photograph or garden. The possibilities for creation are endless.

Before you sleep tonight, consider leaving a notebook open and a pen beside it. For dreams scatter petals of truth across our unconscious, offering beauty to all those ready to catch it.

Yours in words, Deborah

If my words strike a chord and you feel inspired to dive deeper into my poetry or explore my essays on Jungian thought, I invite you to visit: The Liberated Sheep