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Imbolc
Imbolc
Stop.
Listen.
The wind is whispering
“Winter is sleeping silently but Spring is near.”
In the silence
I can hear
Her breathe
And the stirs of things to come.
As the branches of trees transform from
The crone’s bone fingers to the maidens lush hair
I wait
And learn.
For in this silence
I keep
Wisdom close
From in the darkness
Comes life
I am life