Quickening Moon

The February full moon is tomorrow. Snow Moon, Ice Moon, Hunger Moon; many of its names recall that winter is still upon us. But it's been two weeks since we passed the halfway mark to the next solar event of the year, the spring equinox; and the shift can already be felt. The Front Range has seen a very mild winter thus far, with occasionally dumps of snow but many, many sunny and warm days. February in particular has been very warm. Denver set a new high for the date last week - 73!

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It has other names that hint at the coming spring: Rowan Moon, Wild Moon, and the one that caught my eye today, Quickening Moon.

The Earth certainly is quickening. My tulips are beginning to poke above ground. I wish I could be happy about that, but as we all know, winter is not over, and it will certainly snow and turn cold again before spring really settles in to stay. So while it gave me a thrill to see them emerging, it also makes me sad, because they're rather frail, and another hard freeze will mean yet another year with no blooms.

This time of year is about beginnings. An intention planted now that will grow and thrive as spring arrives, and our energy increases along with the lengthening of the days and the warming of the Earth.

Full Moon Spell:

On a slip of paper, jot down, in simple terms, what you want. You can also do this on a bay leaf, with a single word.
Light a candle in the color corresponding to your need.
Consider your desire, really think about what it is you want, what steps you will need to take to get there, and visualize it manifested.
Burn the paper and bury the ashes in your garden, if you have one.

Spring in February

I've always chuckled at the notion of Groundhog Day - here in the middle latitudes of the northern hemisphere, it is a given that on February 2 there is always going to be six more weeks of winter.

It was uncommonly beautiful today, though - in the upper 50s, bright and sunny, not a cloud in the sky. Half a million people piled into the streets and Civic Center Park for the Broncos' victory parade. I wasn't one of them, but it was great to watch the live feed after going for a long brisk walk at lunch.

Walking is my favorite and most consistently practiced form of exercise. It's the one thing I can do every day, even when it's cold; the only thing that keeps me inside is rain, snow, or the occasional gale-force winds we get around here.

It's imperative to be outside. I don't know how people run on treadmills. A colleague of mine goes for her walks in a parking garage. Me, I have to have the sun on my skin, the breeze on my face, gravel crunching under my boots.

Okay, so it was a paved bike/walk path, but you get the idea.

There is something sacred and inimitable about being outside. Fresh air in the lungs and sunshine warming the skin are the things that make me feel alive. Crows chattering in the trees, rabbits and squirrels darting around lawns, pools of meltwater from rapidly disappearing snow drifts, are positively sacred. They remind me of why life is beautiful, and every hour that I get away from my computer to soak up the sun is an hour spent in the church of Pagan.

Nature is divine. We are blessed every time we step outdoors, if only we open our eyes to see.

Winter Returning

It's been uncommonly beautiful all week - warm, sunny, near 60 the last few days. Spring fever has set in and I am already anxious to see budding trees and the return of my tulips. I should probably plant some crocus - they start to bloom very early, late February I think.


Of course, it's still winter, and Mother Holle is getting ready to shake out her bed in a serious way. The storm that's tracking is predicted to give us in the metro area anywhere from a few inches to over a foot; much to the disgust of the general populace, the meteorologists have had to concede they won't be able to predict how much we'll get until it gets closer.

In truth, I like winter. I don't mind the cold or the snow; it provides an excellent excuse to light candles (or a fire), and I've got little white lights set up here and there for a nice glow. And I enjoy having a built-in excuse to stay indoors and putter around in the kitchen. The days are already noticeably longer.

The whims of nature are impressive and, to be honest, fun. The possibility that we might get a lot of snow is always exciting - how lovely it would be to get a two-foot blizzard that shuts the city down! Of course, that seldom happens; far more often, it snows enough to make driving unpleasant and slow, but nothing closes down.

It's okay. It's part of the cycle of the Earth, and in truth, weather brings people together. It's more than just something we all have in common for idle chit-chat; I'm always impressed by the way folks will rally to help neighbors and strangers who get stuck in the snow. I'm one of those people who will watch the local news report on the weather all day during a big storm.

Here's hoping for Snowmageddon!

Spring Cleaning... in January

I suppose I'm impatient for spring. There's still a fair layer of snow in the yard, but there's something satisfying about sweeping dirt and dead leaves out of the garage and away from the front walk, even in the middle of winter.

All in all, it's been a relatively mild winter so far. Some cold temperatures and snow, but fair more often than not and not that much precipitation. (Though the glacier in front of the north-facing mailboxes tells a story of recent frigidity.) The squirrels are fat and there are flocks of geese everywhere. I love watching them take their flight every night from the drainage canal along Yale to their resting grounds at Quincy reservoir.

When I was a little girl I used to read Grimm's Fairy Tales over and over. One of my favorites was the story of Frau Holle, who caused it to snow when she shook out her feather bed.

The tale of Frau Holle/Mother Hulda goes like this: a widow had a daughter and stepdaughter. Favoring her own daughter, she allowed her to laze about and made her stepdaughter do all the housework. One day the stepdaughter accidentally pricked her finger on a spindle. Leaning over a well to wash the blood away, the spindle fell from her hand into the well. Panicked at the thought of her stepmother finding out she'd lost the spindle, the girl leapt into the well after it.

There she fell into the world of Frau Holle, where she immediately encountered a few things that needed tending: bread about to burn, an apple tree that needed plucked, and house chores for Frau Holle herself. Impressed by the girl's kindness and industriousness, Frau Holle rewarded her by covering her with gold before sending her back up to her own world.

The girl's greedy stepmother had the notion to send her own daughter down as well. So the girl pricked her finger as her stepsister had done, and jumped down the well. Only she refused to save the bread from burning, or to pluck the heavy apples, or to lend Frau Holle a hand in her little home. Disgusted with the girl's mean behavior and laziness, Frau Holle sent the girl back covered in pitch, not gold.

It's turned colder tonight, and it looks as though Frau Holle is going to shake out her bed tomorrow.

Darkness and Light

Although the wheel is turning back toward longer days, we're in the heart of winter's darkness now. Despite the fact that winter arrives every year, I'm never quite ready for the 4:30 sunset. The dark, even more than cold or snow, is the hardest part of winter.

And then I drive through the neighborhoods. The beauty of the houses lit up for the season is such a welcome sight in the everlasting darkness - so much so that I can't bear to take them down after the Yule season. I don't decorate the outside of my house, mostly because I'm lazy and don't like ladders. Inside, though, I swap out colored lights for white ones, and leave them strung over the corner barrister bookcase and the windows in the front room and the library.

For most of human history, we didn't have the ability to light up the night. The hearth fire, candles, oil lamps - these were the weapons with which we fended off the darkness, and they are feeble things in the vast scope of the night. What would our ancestors make of this brightly-lit world?

One of my small Yule rituals is to turn everything off for a brief period. Television, lights, even the cable boxes and night lights. Turn everything off and just feel the darkness. It's a little frightening, to be honest. I'm always glad to turn on a lamp again.

On the other hand, there is no beauty like that of the stars on a clear night, and winter brings my favorite constellation: Orion, the hunter, so huge in the sky, so easily found. You've seen him. If you don't know him - look up, an hour or two before dawn. His left arm is marked by the red giant Betelgeuse; his right leg, the blue star Rigel.

(image linked from Pinterest - source link here)

The myth of Orion is Greek. There are differing accounts of his story, but the one I know best is where he, the great hunter, boasts that no beast on earth can best him - and, of course, such hubris is immediately punished. He is killed by a tiny scorpion. For this reason, he and Scorpio are never in the sky at the same time.

As the saying goes, I have loved the stars far too fondly to fear the night.

But I light the lamps.