Imbolc

photo http://www.thegypsythread.org

 February Eve has come, bringing with it just enough warmth and rain to wash away the last of January's snow. Now begins the up and down dance of February, cold this day, warm the next, snow here, rain there, the tug of war between winter and spring. Beyond my window the sky is a soft grey-blue, and what was white yesterday is now a soggy greenish brown. If the rains promised for today were to stop long enough to allow me a walk in nature, I might see signs of life just beginning, the tenderest soft shoots of green just barely breaking the surface; those little hints of life are sustenance enough for me, at this time of year.

For years we've joked about how Imbolc is the sabbat that everyone always skips, because the weather is always wretched. It's true enough that my coven isn't meeting for the sabbat this year, but it's less because of the weather (which is, admittedly, fairly wretched per usual) than because of the ongoing pandemic. The virus that has reshaped our world over the past year has also reshaped itself, appearing in some new and more easily transmissible variants; and while vaccines do now exist, not everyone is able to get one yet, as they are being rolled out in phases with the more vulnerable being first to receive them. It could be well into the spring or even summer before I'm eligible, with the same being true of most of my coveners. And so we wait, as the earth waits, for the return of light and life and hope and all those things that are promised by the spring's awakening.