They will turn to the same places they’ve turned since time immemorial.  To the edges and the hedges, to the woods and the wilds.  There they will meet the women with twigs in their hair and soil under their fingernails.  Hags they called them, cunning women, cut wives and witches.  For centuries, through all the twists and turns…these wise women have kept their hearth fires burning, ready to comfort and warm the frightened, the grief stricken, the weary and the wounded.  They offer medicine, but are not allowed to call it that.  Medicine is only for the sterile white walls and echoing halls of hospitals and universities after all…  But when those hallowed halls are closed to many by bureaucracy and politics, you will find her speaking to plants and tending her simmering cauldrons with a wise and patient heart.  She is keeping ancient knowledge alive…The cycles will turn, as they always do…There will be dark days, and there will be days filled with glorious light, but still the wise woman will persist.  Because she must.