The Temple in the Grove
[November 17, 2025]
My beloved Fin, before he went to bed tonight, asked me to make him something pretty, and so I have, in my own extra way of course.
Fin, my love, in every forest of our lives, your faith stands beside mine like two ancient trees grown from different soils yet reaching for the same sky. Your Judaism brings wisdom, light, and lineage; my druidry brings earth, wonder, and wildness. Together they don’t clash, they braiding-dance, they resonate, they laugh in harmony like old friends who realise they fit together better than either expected.
Where your menorah glows, my candles answer.
Where my stag steps, your lion keeps pace.
Where you pray, I listen; where I chant, you smile.
Side by side, our paths don’t merge, they walk hand in hand, strong in difference, radiant in connection.
You are the harmony my grove needed, the brightness my rituals hum toward, the soul who turns belief into shared sanctuary.
In the soft twilight, as the candles warmed the stone and fireflies drifted like nosy little floating spies, the Golden Lion and Silver Stag held watch outside the Druish temple.
The lion stretched luxuriously, mane catching every scrap of candlelight like he’d been dipped in honey.
The stag rolled his eyes. Gracefully. As stags do when they are so over their coworker’s drama.
Lion:
“I swear, the humans inside are ridiculous. Did you see them earlier? Holding hands like the universe gave them a special coupon code for romance.”
Stag:
“I did. And frankly, I approve. It’s rare to see such commitment. Or that much blushing. Honestly, if he leans any closer, he’ll fall directly into his husband.”
Lion (smirking):
“Good. Less walking for them. More cuddling. Efficiency, my antlered friend.”
Stag:
“I’m the symbol of sovereignty and wise guidance, not a marriage counsellor.”
Lion:
“Please, you’re practically humming every time they get cute. If you had eyebrows, you’d be wiggling them.”
Stag:
“…I do not wiggle.”
A firefly drifted between them.
The stag gently blew it aside.
The lion ate it.
It did not help the dynamic.
---
Stag:
“You realise we’re here to guard the sacred blending of their traditions, yes? A temple in a grove, a grove embracing a temple. Balance. Respect.”
Lion:
“Oh, absolutely. But can’t I enjoy the bonus entertainment? They’re adorable. And the forest hasn’t seen a couple this sweet since that dryad ran off with the traveling rabbi.”
Stag:
“…You made that up.”
Lion (flicking tail):
“Sure did. But it sounded good, didn’t it?”
The stag sighed the way only a creature made of moon-silver can sigh: like he was accepting his fate with long-suffering elegance.
They settled into place, side by side, glowing softly as the last wisps of daylight slipped away.
---
Stag (quietly):
“They’re good together.”
Lion (softening):
“They really are. His faith lights the hearth. The other’s faith grows the forest. And together they make a home neither could build alone.”
Stag:
“…You’re surprisingly profound when you’re not eating the scenery.”
Lion:
“Darling, I am the scenery.”
The stag actually snorted. Loudly enough to scatter three fireflies and one judgmental squirrel.
And under the canopy of silver leaves and golden flame, the guardians settled into their watch, proud, protective, and secretly invested in the two souls inside who dared to create something new, sacred, and utterly theirs.
