I find myself deep within the wood, surrounded by ancient pines and young oaks. Green shoots fight their way through an ice and snow encrusted landscape, their tiny leaves a testament to their desire for life. Cold winds howl from the north, refusing to let go their grasp on winter, while heavy branches release deep moans into the brisk air. Pulling my wool cloak tightly around my shoulders, I bury myself deep within the warmth of the thick hood. Damp lichens cling to wet branches and I close my eyes, inhaling the exquisite aromas of earth.
Kneeling on still frozen ground, my hands cling tightly to the staff in my hand. It is time-worn, polished smooth by the rough sands and crashing waves of a mighty lake. My fingers grasp the familiar wood, seeking the grooves that hold each digit in place. Raising the staff inches from the earth, I begin to slowly and deliberately pound the ground, allowing the vibrations to travel throughout my body. I continue to pound the earth with hard, strong pulses – forcing my energy deep into the belly of the earth. My entire being rises and falls, matching the cadence of my staff. The earth beneath my knees begins to shake and I rise, my green eyes soaking in the wonder of my wood. Magick fills the clearing as spring makes herself known to the hag of winter.
Dawn streaks across the sky, and a woman cloaked in green appears at the edge of the clearing, her power a gentle force as she breathes life into the wood. Silently, she kneels at the trickle of water at her feet and takes a deep drink of water formed in Gaia’s womb. Stillness settles in the wild forest as she rises, breathing in deeply the sweet smells of Spring. Following my worn footpath, she treads lightly through the forest, leaving fresh sprouts of life in her wake.
The earth has settled herself; the vibrations no longer pulsate through my being. Sighing, I find myself awake, my wool blanket at my feet and cats stretched lazily in warm sunbeams across my bed. A dream. I rise, filled with an inner peace, and smile. Winter is half over.
*Brighid is the Celtic Goddess of Spring
© Tara E. Wisnewski Janisch and Rugged Earth Blessings, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of original poems, essays and photographs without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited.