This year, Imbolc falls on February 1, 2025. Imbolc is one of my favorite times of year: the beginning of the end of winter. The quiet peace that comes just before a bigger transition.
I enjoy the cold air and the gray skies. They remind me that there's still time for rest before the bustle of spring begins.
This year though, the energy feels different. On a recent hike, I honed into what I was feeling and listened to the natural world around me.
About a mile in, I heard crows cawing in the distance. When I finally got close enough, I saw that they were actually ravens. Of course, the little tricksters fled as soon as I tried to photograph them.
I heard other forms of life, but didn't see much of it. The land mostly seemed still, stark, yet strangely beautiful in the way that late winter is.
I'm not immune to the weight felt in the collective right now. And I don't think the land or nature spirits are immune to it either. We are part of nature, after all, and everything is connected. There is a grief, a sense of unsettling, waves of rage. I said to my partner the other day, "I feel like the land is crying." I don't know how else to explain it.
Yet there are signs of hope in nature.
Budding berries on this tree promise springtime in an otherwise barren landscape.
Being pagan taught me about the wheel of the year. The significance of the solstices and sabbats as necessary cycles that create balance, harmony.
When we honor the wheel of the year, so too do we honor our place in the natural world and our own natural cycles.
When nature rests in winter, we harmonize ourselves by also resting.
When nature begins to bud despite cold and gray surroundings, so too are we invited to have hope. To dare to dream. To understand that nothing is permanent, that everything has a beginning and an end. Because that is the nature of all things.
We can always create new.
These stacked stones were on an old brick pillar, marking a crossroads on the hiking trail.
Imbolc is a crossroads, a transition. We will transition into spring and leave winter behind. Although I personally want to cling to the restful winter months, I cannot control the cycles outside of me. But I can rest and enjoy the moments as they are now.
I'm trying to enjoy the little moments. Though I'm not a blind optimist (my moon sign doesn't allow for that). I know the state of the world.
I see the reactions as words of hate and oppression are spun into laws.
I see the fear and the sorrow.
And I see the frozen hearts that pretend they see nothing.
But there's power in choosing to have small moments of enjoyment. To choose a feeling of gratitude, even if it's fleeting. To choose to say something kind and encouraging. These are things that can bring hope through cold gray skies.
Hope despite the circumstances is quintessentially Imbolc. Knowing that spring is coming doesn't make winter end sooner. Just as hope doesn't negate feelings of grief, worry, or rage.
It's okay to grieve.
It's okay to worry.
It's okay to feel rage.
It's okay to feel hopeful, even cautiously hopeful.
And it's okay to feel the complication of everything all at once.
For me, I know that without self-care, the cold gray skies will become too ominous. As I said on
Blue Sky recently, "When they want you weak and scared, self-care is an act of rebellion." My self-care is finding moments of enjoyment in things I love.
I love hikes in nature, I love winter, I love my partner, I love my cat, I love
making things, I love my spiritual path.
So I'm leaning into those things. I'm looking forward to celebrating Imbolc and offering my first
Imbolc candle service to bring in the energies of hope, healing, and new pathways to those who care to join.
Imbolc is here. Spring will come again.
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So much love,
Kat
