Imbolc for me is white.
light after darkness
cold but white everywhere you look
The white of snow on high ground, but this year in low areas too.
The white of crisp hoar frost as it sparkles in morning skies.
The white peaks of the waves as the tide rushes into shore, encouraged by the February winds that are so harsh on nose and fingers.
But mostly Imbolc is a white festival because of the snowdrops. The tiny white flowers unfazed by Nature's gifts of snow and ice, of wind and chill.
Snowdrops bring a promise for us within their delicate blooms.
A promise of sun and warmth. A turning of the wheel once more towards the light.
Days are longer now with more hours of light betwixt dawn and dusk.
There is more sun and a thread of warmth within its rays.
Our hearts lighten with this turn of the wheel.
We feel the energies rising and the hope.
The joy in snowdrops makes me smile, it makes me want to sing.
To throw open doors and windows to welcome back the light.
Brigid brings her creativity to us all on days like these. Everything we do is an act of creativity.
We have a need to spring clean, to brush away winter's gloom and dust.
To bring in freshness, new projects, more joy.
Can you feel the pulse of the earth's awakening?
It echoes through us all. It is a siren call.
Wake up and see.
Wake up and feel.
Wake up and be.
It is time.
I dance with anticipation on Imbolc Eve.
I search out snowdrops growing in gardens or in parks. Anywhere so long as I see them.
It isn't Imbolc for me until I see my first snowdrops.
Not in pots as these crocus and daffodils are, but bravely waving in frozen soil.
