Imbolc. We are poised midway between the solstice and the equinox. And the moon is new. Auspicious, some would say. I hope so, but I don’t really know. I wish I was wrapped in the old wisdom like a velvet cloak. I could stand and gaze at the stars, full of knowing. I can see a snow drop as a portent, if I put my mind to it. Soon my herb bed will come back to life and I’ll try to pull out sprouting stowaways while I wish I knew how to make potions. But my tender little plants are more likely to find themselves in mojitos or puttanesca. Maybe that’s a magic of it’s own kind…
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