Season

The dark times are half over. The worst of it past. Healing and celebration have been the path for weeks now. At the riverside, in smoky rooms, and under ancient spruce trees, in the company of horses, phoebes, deer and many more unseen nature spirits the work has been wrought beautifully.

How much joy can grow in the days of light to come? How many good things have we pressed into the cold but eager earth?

Only time, the spinning earth about the sun, can tell.

In the Crone's Time

Although the weather here in Oregon is nothing like the weather of New England, I know that it is getting wintery. In the mountains there are deep curtains of fog which from the valleys obscure the skyline. Winter mysteries are upon us. Time for purifying and repairing so that we can meet the bliss of spring.

For our little grove it is this way. We are working with the old ones, thinking of them, thanking them as we try to make ready for the changes that will come in the new year. For us it is still Samhain, still the time of the ancestors, still the time of growing dark. 

The meditation lately is of a rainbow light going out and coming within like an infinity symbol.