It was a bit Grand-Central Station there today, with more people than I usually see, out enjoying the sunshine, but for much of my walk it was just me, the waning moon as pale and ethereal against the blue sky as frosted breath, the murmuring wind, hawks, sunshine, and cattails.
Do you ever pull cattails off their stems and watch them come alive in your hand, unfolding till their soft bellies open up and seeds fly off in the wind, carrying the prayers of new beginnings?
In the wee hours of Sunday morning, I dreamt of a red-haired womon in repose. She wasn't asleep, just...being. Her long red flowed around her, spilling down from the rocks on which she was laying. I looked around me and saw mottled gray rocks rising up from the moss green hillocks of the landscape. I was sitting on the ground beside one of these large stones and as the warm sun shone down, a cobra-hooded, iridescently black snake raised its head to look at me. I've never been afraid of snakes, and so we looked at each other a long while, her skin gleaming purples and greens like the feathers of a grackle. Only slightly nervous and bewildered, I reached out to touch the snake's head, which she allowed. When I glanced behind me I saw another of her kind just a few feet away on another stony mound. And beyond that snake, my eyes met those of the wild red-haired womon, and I woke....
I'm not someone who remembers dreams, and rarely put much stock into meanings when shreds of a dreams do cling to my waking brain. But this one has stayed with me. It wasn't until my second cup of coffee that I remembered it was January 31, and Imbolc, depending on how one chooses to view the cross-quarters calendar, was nearly upon us. Did Brighid bless me with a howdy? Were the snakes emissaries, cosmic messengers? I think things are stirring. The sap flow is on, buds are starting to swell, Linda's honeybees are out and about, the frozen ground was wet beneath my boots today. Creativity seems to have flash-frozen after a month of showing me what the fire can feel like, but I think this dream holds a promise, a reassurance from She who blesses poets and the forge that this is just an inhale, a moment to turn my soul to the sun and soak it in, let it flow from crown to feet, feet to crown, before it bursts into flame.