I said I wasn't going to be doing any more blogging until Monday, but something I saw at a sacred site prompted me to find somewhere with an internet link and write.
Yesterday I visited a beautiful wood, much loved by pagans, and was horrified to see it spoiled with discarded rubbish.
There were bottles, cans, carrier bags, old newspapers - even the remains of a fire in a place where there are plenty of signs saying "No Fires".
But the item that really made me go "ugh!" was a torn and tattered pair of pants. Underpants that is, to clarify this to non-English people who normally call such things "shorts" or "boxers".
Whether this undergarment had been removed for some skyclad rite under the moon and then lost in the dark, or whether the pants had been discarded in a moment of passion, I don't know.
I guess if the pants were shredded before they were taken off, then I rather hope a moment of passion was the reason. I wouldn't like to think there was some wild creature in the area that could tear someone's pants from their living body - or their dead body, come to think of it.
So, please pagans, unless you are being pursued by the Hound of the Baskervilles, do pick up all your rubbish and take it home with you when you leave the countryside - including your pants.