Blessed Midwinter

[The Hammer]

By whatever name you call it: Imbolc, Charming of the plow, Brigid's Day, or Lupercalia.

We are halfway through winter and on the upswing into Spring. The days for us in more northern climates should be getting noticeably longer now.

This is a time of new beginnings, fertility and growth.

Feel free to post blessings of the season, discuss the holiday, or whatever in this thread.

 

[beenherebeforeagain]

As I recognize the seasons, we have left Winter and entered Wonder...

As in, "Wonder when the winter weather will end and things will start to warm up again?"

 

[Quintessence]

An utterly perfect MidWinter's day today.

Winter Spirit's bitter chill was noted on the eve.
Temperatures in the single figures.

Today, a MidWinter's sun, light reflecting off the still snow covered landscape.
Tracks from animals interrupt the snows, creating mystifying patterns of light and shadow.
Thin wisps of clouds cast the sky without blocking Sun's light.
A chill, but warmer than yesterday. Noticeably so.

A Druid burns things to be cast off in a cauldron, rendering them to ash. The ashes are scattered outside, blown into the small prairie restoration they began so many years ago.

Then on a small piece of paper, charged by MidWinter's solar rays, a promise. A seed of an idea. A resolution for the turning of the tides. Written and placed by the symbol of the Sun on the altar in remembrance. So it shall be.

After a brisk walk outside, it is time for tea.

 

[The Hammer]

An utterly perfect MidWinter's day today.

Winter Spirit's bitter chill was noted on the eve.
Temperatures in the single figures.

Today, a MidWinter's sun, light reflecting off the still snow covered landscape.
Tracks from animals interrupt the snows, creating mystifying patterns of light and shadow.
Thin wisps of clouds cast the sky without blocking Sun's light.
A chill, but warmer than yesterday. Noticeably so.

A Druid burns things to be cast off in a cauldron, rendering them to ash. The ashes are scattered outside, blown into the small prairie restoration they began so many years ago.

Then on a small piece of paper, charged by MidWinter's solar rays, a promise. A seed of an idea. A resolution for the turning of the tides. Written and placed by the symbol of the Sun on the altar in remembrance. So it shall be.

After a brisk walk outside, it is time for tea.

I did some freeform poetry during my ritual yesterday.

I'll try to write some of it down, if I can remember it.