Last night I dreamt I was walking by a frozen river. I stepped out onto it, and realized that it was solid ice, and could bear all my weight. I began to slide my feet along, as if I was skating, letting myself glide. All the while, I kept looking towards the banks, for where I thought it must be melting in the shallows. I listened for the creak of water moving far underneath. But there was no thaw, all was silent, so I skated, skated, skated…

Apparently, I really do need to move to England, since they do things like have fireworks for Imbolc. America really needs to work on its awesome. ("Imbolc Firewatchers", West Yorkshire, by Mark Kelly)

I dearly love the holiday of Imbolc.

Smack in the middle between Yule and the Vernal Equinox, the day is like an imp that you spy, clinging to the coat tails of winter as the parade of the seasons goes marching past. Truly the beginning of Spring, for me it has always felt like light at the end of the tunnel, a deep breath finally taken, and a satisfying exhale. Imbolc is the first bulb breaking through the snow, Japanese plum blossoms in the rain, warmth in the wind, and wistfulness.

Wistful because suddenly the heart and mind are roused from hibernation and full of remembrance of desire. (Not necessarily sexual, although according to the birds in my neighborhood, that’s the #1 priority.). I have been terribly restless the last few days, impatient even. “I don’t want to wait anymore” could be one translation. “It is time” could be another. I want land, I want a house for our family, I want a hobbit hut to see clients in (heck, I want to live in one too), I want to plunge my hands in soil that is home, I want acreage that is home to the spirits of nature, a place that wants to heal and be healed.

In other words, I’ve got nesting instinct so bad I’m stumbling over my visions of it, all throughout the day. Much like a seedling, just barely above the still cold ground, within me I contain the blueprint for an entire way of being. By summer the seedling will have grown into maturity, but right now….right now it is small beginnings, fueled by a raging life force, a zest for living barely contained. As for me, I don’t know when my dreams will become tangible, I’m not sure when “summer” is. But I can smell it on the wind, I can feel it in my tingling fingertips, and I have seen my shadow…change is coming.

I have seen Fern's shadow too. Not sure if she noticed her own, since there were much more important things to notice. Like the slide at the playground.

As for now, as for Right Now, this moment is the name of the game, and fortunately the pulse of life is omnipotent, and everywhere. Risk taking, allowing for what is, and diving in head first are all appropriate Spring past times. And I’ve got the best teacher.

Partly taken to showcase her climbing skills, the real action starts at 0:31.

A do-over is always allowed.

Since we spend so much time in it, and since Fern loves it so much, I decided to film the garden next door for posterity. Little did I realize there would be a surprise ending…

(No animals were harmed in the making of this film).


3 thoughts on “Imbolc

  1. OH MY GOSH!!! I love the videos! And so is Fern no longer a vegan? HAHAHAHAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa I bet the snail was none too happy about that!

    1. fern was never a vegan, or even vegetarian, but whatever she was, i think this recent cullinary experiment makes her a gourmet…and i’ve noticed she’s started squealing with a french accent…

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