It's come again to the northern realms--the festival of Imbolc--and many of us are busily preparing to welcome Brigit into our homes for another year. The spring image above (borrowed from my sister's blog) may be more typical than my own experience. Here we are well into spring already, with the fleet moments of snow long past, though the air is still chill and bracing in the middle of the night.
Here she peeks, like the snowdrop pressing her first green shoots above the ground. In my case the snowdrops came from the garden store, but they are eagerly on duty, one to go into the ground to sew anew, and one to greet me on my little deck.
This afternoon I am going to scoop my youngest and most meditative nephew to spend the weekend here. Together we can plant the snowdrops, cook the Irish stew and colcannon, and welcome Brigit in from the cold to her place at the table.
May Brigit bless your home and friends, this night and every night, and may her flame burn brightly on your hearth.
