A poem for this day of Imbolc which is mild and bright, the sun is warm, and the birds are singing spring songs. I’m using this painting of Diana again because it’s such a joyful one.
Before green leaves, sweet birdsong
clothes the trees in beauty,
and through the rain, the air, pearl-bright,
is blue as mists upon the ocean.
Tread with fiery feet
to warm the cockles of the earth,
and hatch the seeded fruits of autumn.
Keep your keening for the year that’s dead,
the crone laid down beneath the winter snows,
and we will sing the green and sun-dyed hopes
in the young year to come.