It is the feast of Imbolc, the celebration of yet to come. It might, or could be the beginning of Spring. It is a time of pregnant potential. The fields are prepared, or about to be. It is a time of sowing, almost. But, as Jesus said, not all seed grows strong and true.
There is static in the air. In the northern hemisphere, as that is where Imbolc currently resides, the days are noticeably longer. We can begin to do so much more. The time of quiescence is abating.
Brigid – goddess or/and saint – bestows a blessing, if we invite and ask and be nice. We want the future to be blessed. The seed we sow to bear a good harvest. Please Brigid, can we have some more.
Imbolc could literally mean ‘in the belly’ or it may have something to do with washing and cleansing. Either definition relates to getting ready and something new. That’s what it is all about.
Winter may have a few stings left, but it is waning. Winter is leaving us and saying goodbye.
And something (insert your preferred potential here) this way comes.