Shining Field of the Flowing Waters

A story of three daughters borne from their Mother, Wim

At the time of myth and legend, before men drew lines upon the land, there was an Untamed Woman who dwelled deep within the hills. She was not wild in madness but wild in love — the kind of love that knows no boundaries, that sees no difference between root and river, feather and flame. She was the pulse beneath every root and stone, the breath of the mountains, the laughter in the streams — the heart of Earth herself.

Every creature, every moss and mineral, was part of her great living body. The deer’s heartbeat echoed her own; the curling fern was her hair; the soil her skin; the wind her sigh. She was both vast and intimate, the Mother of the Hills, and from her breast flowed bright streams of life — glimmering rivers of essence that nourished all things.

Far away, where her laughter turned to running water, a lake was born — clear and shining like a mirror to the sky. And from its depths, her essence rose and took form — a being woven of hum and shimmer, who could be seen only by those attuned to subtle energies.

This was Wim, the Lady of the Lake, guardian of reflection, renewal, and return — the living embodiment of the Mother’s heart. Through the long golden summers, she lay still and radiant upon the lake bed, her head cradled by reeds and dragonflies, her waters holding the light of the sun. She dreamed the dreams of her Mother, keeping the world in balance between stillness and flow.

But when the wheel turned and the days began to shorten, Wim felt the call of the darkening year. Her Mother whispered through the roots of the world, and the Lady’s essence began to rise — lifting from the lake in tendrils of mist, joining the clouds above. For a time she dwelled there, resting in the cool air, watching over the hills like a veil of silver.

And when Samhain came — that sacred threshold when the space between the worlds grows thin — the first rains fell. Wim’s spirit, carried in every drop, returned to the waiting earth. The rain soaked deep into the soil of Cannon Hill, where three ancient mounds lay, sleeping beneath the grass — the Three Bowl Barrows.

There, Wim’s essence pooled in the hollow bowls of the earth. Her Mother’s breath stirred beneath, and together they awakened the Three Daughters of Wim — Bone, Blood, and Breath.

The Daughter of Bone rose first, her body formed of chalk and flint. Her eyes were ancient as the stars, her voice the low hum of the stones. She carried the memory of all who had walked before — the lineage of earth, bone, and ancestor.

The Daughter of Blood followed, clothed in russet and crimson leaves. She carried the rhythm of all living things — the pulse of rivers, the sap of trees, the heartbeats of creatures great and small. Wherever she walked, life quickened and glowed with vitality.

The Daughter of Breath came last, soft and shimmering, woven from mist and moonlight. She moved unseen across the downs, her voice a whisper carried by the wind. She was the dream of the Mother made audible — the sigh that unites heaven and earth.

Together they gathered their Mother’s essence — the bright streams flowing through soil, rain, and air — and poured it into the bowls of the hill. There it mingled with the memory of the land, forming a living chalice of renewal.

On Samhain night, when the veil grows thin, it is said that the Three Maidens of the Barrows rise once more. They wander the land with soft, shining steps, sending healing through the earth to all who are sensitive to their touch... To those who pause and listen — in still rain, in the hush between heartbeats — their presence can be felt: a gentle tingling through the crown, a hum beneath the soles of the feet, a wave of quiet love through the chest.

For Bone, Blood, and Breath still weave their Mother’s song through hill and hollow, reminding us that all things are one living body — every rock and raindrop, every heartbeat and gust of wind part of the same great embrace.

And Wim, the Shining Field of Flowing Waters, smiles through it all — holding every form, seen and unseen, with infinite tenderness, whispering through the soil and the stars alike:

“All is loved. All is living. All is ONE."