Imbolc
Under the crust of winter, the ewes are in milk. The land is not yet awake, but it is dreaming.
Imbolc — from the Old Irish 'in the belly' — was the herder's midwinter, when the flocks began to lamb and fresh milk returned to the pail after months of dry cheese and grain. It was a small, essential miracle.
The day belonged to Brigid: goddess in older Ireland, saint in later Christian memory, keeper of hearth, forge and holy well. Her cross of woven rush was hung above the door for a year's protection. Cloaks and strips of cloth were laid on the doorstep overnight — the brat Bhríde — so she might bless them as she passed.
Imbolc is the sabbat of the almost. Nothing has flowered yet. But the light is longer, the ewes are in milk, and something you thought was dormant has quietly begun.
- — woven rush cross
- — fresh milk & cream
- — the well & the flame
- — white and cream linen
- — candlemas beeswax
Pale, hopeful, hushed. Cream and untanned wool.
Objects of Imbolc
No objects yet marked for this station of the wheel.
Return with the turning