winter runs off

one of the benefits of having a dog is that she forces you outside. 

even on damp and gloomy days when you would prefer to sit under a blanket 

with a steaming beverage, the dog must evacuate. 

so you go bravely into the great grey melt down.

the sound of running water fills our woodsy hamlet. water raining down, dripping from trees, rushing in streams that are usually silent and dry.

our creek is generally naught but a trickle with a few stagnant pools. 

today it is a tumbling drunk choir, adorned in stunning little waterfalls, 

a bold brook rather than a shy stream. tributaries are swollen with purpose, 

mountain quartz flirting through rivulets and moss.

imbolg entered in a moody shroud of rain water, holding her flaming torch high, 

melting the snows, shedding light on an impending season, 

and offering a bright promise of regeneration.

warmest sun, coldest day

driving home with tristan this afternoon, moments before i turned into our wood, 

a generous light caught my eye, a layer of snow so dazzling, and evergreens -- 

breathing large and casting shadow

a cleansing breeze found its origins and whispered waken

we pulled into our driveway, pulled on some additional layers, and went for a walk

it was brigid's medicine:  the call of the great heralds of healing

a couple of rotund birds hopped about us

a flock of geese traveled across our sky, flying northward

four favorite farm animals turned in unison and ran toward us, 

but sadly were cut afar by a middling fence

tristan asked why the sky was so blue today 

why we couldn't just walk through the wired off pasture to the animals

begged me to run down a steep hill, to have a leaf fight, 

to visit the great fallen tree in the woods 

our numbing fingers reminded us that we are just half way through the winter season, 

and we turned toward home, sun kissed

on our return a hawk flew overhead purposefully
i was not able to capture the detail of its feathers, but can see speckles when i blink

the great and glorious sun blazed her final wink in our direction

and then settled, asking us of tomorrow

the day rolled her stony shoulder over and cast us under a shadow of dusk

and i breathed a great thank you for her protection, her beauty, and her light

we are half way to spring, friends! 

i'm guessing climate challenges will remain

but even on the coldest days, the light will continue to grow 

enjoy this moon cycle as we enter february!

and whether you call it imbolc or candlemas: 

it is time to rejoice in the  great powers of good!

p.s. my camera lens needs a professional cleaning.

i can't seem to make those spots disappear from sky photos.

feast & fire

imbolc, the balance between winter solstice and spring equinox, occurred early sunday. 

we greeted it with feast & fire. 

i made bread from scratch and it actually turned out. my bread making is often an epic fail (unless using the bread machine), so this was gratifying. it is a recipe from the book circle round for a braided imbolc bread. it has tomato, herbs, and garlic in it, and is warm & delightful.

the ewes are said to begin lactating on imbolc so we celebrate all things milky to mark the occasion. 

i made a cheddar broccoli soup. the recipe is based on a soup that panera serves and is super tasty. 

and of course, one must have their mug of ale. i enjoyed a thick 

coffeehouse stout by williamsburg aleworks.

what is imbolc without a bonfire? we burned yard debris and our yule tree. 

it was a fine conflagration.

one of our traditions, also from circle round, is flaming bananas, or bananas a la brigid. 

saute sliced bananas in brown sugar and butter, pour on a little brandy, carefully light & enjoy! 

we like ours with ben & jerry's vanilla bean ice cream.

the spring is approaching. it is time to plan on the seeds you will plant ~

the seeds of life, the seeds of dreams. you can make it real with careful attention and nurturing. 

what good do you wish to grow? 

focus your intention as the flame flares up; burn away the unnecessary that bogs you down.