Saying goodbye to Imbolc


As the wheel turns again, here are a few writings on my farewell to Imbolc. Enjoy.


Last wool

There is a way to everything
and light in all.
Shadows become shorter–
are they even there?
The flesh rises,
or the sun does.
Something does.
Someone is supposed to be happy.
No one tells me
to embrace the grey.
No one remembers the mystery of darkness
nor mourns it.
Don’t ask me to never look back.
Don’t throw me your flamboyant flowers
or your platitudes.
Just keep your mouth shut;
it’s my last day to wear wool.


It was a window of trees
into a time of flowers.
The ice road climbed through memory
to reach kin.
Wildlife spoke in numbers,
in golden ratios,
And I only remember the scent,
the blooming of new life.
You ran circles around me
in the nonsensical hall,
calling out
in hieroglyphs.
Draw me,
paint me into your story
for another generation
… here.

End of winter

What does the end of winter look like?
A pool of melted slush?
A hint of sunlight on the greyest day?
Will the food grow?
Will the fae forgive?
Does a body awaken?
Does life renew?
Are there shards of joy waiting to attack?
Are there monsters in the sack?
Can I find myself again?
Can there be love where I see none?
Is this how winter ends,
not with a bathing suit, but with a hope?

From Imbolc to Ostara

From Imbolc to Ostara
from ice to rocks
From winter to spring
from boots to Crocs
From dark to light
from mystery to mirth
From grey to green
from conception to birth
From January to March
from wood to hearth
From Brighid to bunnies
from the depths into earth
From a seed to an egg
from love to life
From acquaintance to union
from maiden to wife

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