I Bridie's bed.

I Bridie's bed.

Saturday February 2, 2013:
Take the tenderly intimate, soft swans down,
To the comforting warmth of the thick wool fleece,
And bring them to lie with the sleek silk sheet.

And as you stroke and smooth and fold,
Picture the textures that shade the hues,
A pallet of milky whites and creams,
So subtle so distinct and yet,
So similar and so self contained.

Hard on the heels of the snow and white frost,
Comes the ewe's first milk, and the frail snowdrops.
Cross the bridge that is February's twenty-eight days,
Walk from winter to spring, turn from fear towards hope.

Imbolc blessings.

We process in, smudged and belled clean, cast the circle and call
directions. I am north. I crawl around on the floor, growling and howling.
I'm having a great time. Who am I, a bolf or a wear! I like myself!
"Growhowl!"

We invite those who inspire us. I invite Ang San Su Shi for her sheer
indominatable persistence. I call in my sick friend who is steady and
reliable even if she doesn't want to be.
With our candles and seeds we process to Bridies hearth. Bridie speaks to
me of creativity. The bard asks me what makes my soul sing. I say "the
wind in the trees". The spring maiden, blesses my seeds. I sit down and
wait.

We share poems and songs. I read them my Imbolc poem and sing them the
Cernunnus song. They join in. It sounds so great!

We dance the spiral dance. I take the energy for hope for my sick friend
and for me for the life force to keep going through dark and difficult
times. Then we open and feast, but not before I've rolled around on the
floor in my playful happy wear or bolf. Hmm, maybe it should be a belf?
"Growhowl".