Imbolc
What flows once was frozen, what freezes was once flow. Life and death are woven like raindrops in snow. The bone fire of old rams, the teat stream of the ewe, the glittering holograms of midnight stars in dew; a glance of full moon on a dark icy pond, the bright crystal rune of reflection, a wand of dragonwort touching its seed that sleeps under sod in hollows that bleed to bear a crocus god; white witchery of Imbolc that cloaks the frozen field, a shimmer-gift of fairy folk to salve earth's wound, unhealed; the brittle Winter sun my heart to pierce and thaw, and make my sap to run from furrows raw... O mover of the looms of time, dear Mother wise, sow roses in these tombs of light, my sleeping eyes. Image: Brigid's Blessing by Sue Ellen Parkinson
