Archive | Weather Matters

Ostara 2019!

Here’s to color and fragrance and winds and seeds. To pedals and petals and sunshine and mudlucious rain. To springing forward and the full moon in Venus’s Libra and even this dopy mercury retrograde in third-eye Pisces. And here’s to hope and fresh starts and always always love abloom. Happy Ostara, Happy Vernal Equinox, and—-o joy!—-Happy Happy Spring!

March, Minuet

I am hungover for the second morning in a row. Still, I wake early, right before the day’s sun.

Permakitten and I pad into the kitchen, where I fix her food and warm up yesterday’s coffee. Just a little too hungover to deal with a boiling kettle for the French press. It’s unlike me to have more than two drinks in one sitting–usually I can’t bear ceding that much control–but during this Mercury Retrograde, I’ve been unlikely across the board.

It’s warm for a March morning–already in the high 40s–and so Grace and I exchange morning smooches and perch on the fire escape to watch the day rise. First light lifts the clouds into silver and peach. Then the rest of the sky starts to lift–indigo to lilac, finally a cool periwinkle. Continue Reading →

Candlemas Blessings

Right under the wire let me whisper to you of Candlemas. Poised halfway between Winter Solstice and Spring Equinox, this day is presided over by St Brigid, the Celtic goddess of fire and deep wells. Known for her resourcefulness and beautiful tenacity, she excels at creating something from nothing. I call her in to harvest creative projects and am feeling her strongly as I finish my book’s first draft.

Here in Februa, while the soil is still frozen and the trees still bare, we have the time and space to sow our own visions; this holiday is also the secular Groundhog Day because it stirs us out of hibernation. So put on Kate Bush’s The Dreaming. Light a white candle. Crack a window and breathe that clean cold air. And bless sweet Saint Brigid. She’s here to walk you into spring.

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy