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