Imbolc, harbinger of Spring, part 2

It snows. And snows more..
We are in an endless landscape of white, renewed every other day, with a bit of time in between to clear a way out.

Today is another grey, snowy, cold, silent day.

But it is light until 6 and it will be March next week and we will have floods and mud soon.

I know small critters scurry beneath the feet of snowpak.
I know the stream gurgles under the ice.
The willows all glow yellowish and the brush blush red.

Spring will come, though we are at times doubting that.
Or like in a deep sleep we have forgotten.
But I hear birds begin to sing, and I remember that soon pre-dawn I will wake to their cacophonic morning calls.
Imbolc- we saw the lengthening of days, the healing of our friends and the passing of great ones. Endless snows foggy our days but what is important stands out always.

First there was the owl, coming close over our house in that snowstorm just before the holiday and sitting in the tree out the window and looking at me, at us, allowing us time to take pictures, to make sure we got it.

Or perhaps first was the ice and snow. Making us extra grateful for every bit of sun, for a day off the mountain,
for a brief melt gathering sticks to supplement the last of our wood, and finally burning last year’s calendar.

Moving forward imperceptibly.  

Then there were the art shows- framing and hanging work, going to openings, writing copy, encountering coincidences and connections always.

Lots of driving to the same places,
hurt ankle enforced rest,
more and more snow,
Pete Seeger songs.

What really matters, what perseveres?

Imbolc, harbinger of Springtime, part 1

We have had bitterly cold temps, snow and more snow, endless days of no school and cancelled plans.
But these days grow longer, and when the sun is out birds sing. And you can smell that spring will come.
Today it snows again,
after snowing the day after our Imbolc ritual,
when it rained cold and persistent,
and it will snow again in a few days. 

The endless white is a blank canvas.
Bridget knows.

Bridget knows about our songs unsung, about our health neglected, about those walks not taken.
Bridget knows we care and we love.
Bridget inspires us to do better, even when we fall down.
A busy week of art and plays and recuperation and connection leading up to our ritual day. Groundhog’s day, 6 more weeks of winter. Days and weeks blended together, until we no longer know what day it is, but we know February has begun, and we know it will end and it will be Springtime. Sometime.

Once again many folks who plan to attend ritual but can’t,
it is once again just our family and Katrina’s family.
A magical 6 of 2 sets of parents and 2 teenagers balanced into 3 guys & 3 gals.

Grateful and alive and grateful to be alive.

Outside now it is silent, there are not yet tracks, except for our digging and the snowplow. It is long past 5pm and yet the snow still shines like the afternoon. 
Everywhere is a grey white that could be a cocoon and is most certainly a blanket.

I long to walk out to her, but it is way too deep. I will wait until there is a path. For now I imagine how quiet it is there at the frozen brook with all the valleys filled flat with snow.

We have a haircut to offer,
time to grow, begin to stretch,
to move energy in a good direction
with gratitude.

It is always just about gratitude.

Coincidences are not and activity is.