The Omens of Snow, the Blessings of Fire and Ice

We’ve had some formidable days this bleak and educational February.  I have always found that the shortest month always seems longer than summer and usually attribute it to my birthday in early March. This February has been unduly long and we’ve had the whole of winter in a couple of weeks.

Last week was cold as the proverbial magic-wielder’s mammary and we all worried about the folks in our town who are adamantly homeless. And we worried about our pipes and the iciness of the roads.

There was precipitation this week–the first batch when I was in Raleigh for Women’s Advocacy Day and the second batch last night, in a soft heavy fall of perfect snow. I’ve been itching to be in the gardens–yes, there are three (or maybe four) of them at this point–but we have real winter now. That means writing and baking and finally finishing my expenses for last year.

There is a weariness lingering on me from last week and I believe I’ll need one more night of deep sleep to face the excitement of Birthday Weekend.

But there is a disturbance in the Force, gentle reader.  Are you feeling it?  I often make lengthy pronouncements on Facebook about Tower Time and the importance of grounding.  Facebook has been filled with hurts and griefs and sadness and I indulged in one of those pronouncements, hoping it can act as a kind of benediction.  I share it here for your information:

February has been fraught for so many of us. Yes, there are some astrological reasons for it and there is Tower Time. But here’s the secret–you are resilient, thoughtful, strong. Instead of frantically searching for something or someone to blame, I invite you to switch the paradigm, to give the poor scapegoat some sweet feed and let her go her ways. Then ground yourself, go to your altar, speak with your Ancestors and your gods and get back to work. This is a new time and we have a responsibility to it, to the land and to our species. Do the work you know to do–love deeply, help those who need it, laugh in the face of patriarchy’s decline. Kick it down, burn it up, dance on the ashes.

Time to dance, friends.  Past time.