Winter's last breath

I am the daughter of sun and fire. Born on the longest day of the year in the North where the sun never set. It’s difficult for me to rise before the sun. It’s nearly impossible to be productive after it fades to dark. Even my golden hair becomes murky auburn in the darker months and my eyes fade to a seafoam gray. There’s a mute coldness in my belly and inspiration comes in quiet waves. Winter is hard.

And yet, the roots of my pagan ancestors stir me to enchantment even in the coldest months. From the ancient Norse year to the Celtic sabbats to the shores of Avalon and the great wheel of the Cosmos. The medicine found in nature can still take my breath away — in crusty melting snow, dried branches, and colorless skies. Because I know there’s a time for fire and a time for dreams. A time for action and a time for rest. Winter’s last breath is the stirring within the cocoon that makes me shiver with anticipation. I can only imagine the beauty of the emergence when it comes.

And now, in Pisces season, the last month of winter, we see the melting ice flow to streams and waterfalls, rainbows in the freezing dew, pockets of rain and snow in all moods and temperatures. Hope, despair, grief, and joy ebb and flow like the changing waters and impatient clouds. I become sleepy, because Dreamtime beckons and my body aches to prepare. The fire grows brighter — from a flickering candle flame to a steady warmth. Flowing water, cool air, and softening earth give me permission to heal. To watch and wait.

Here, now — slowly awakening in the cocoon to breathe the last of winter’s breaths.