A brilliant moon rose into the darkness last night, only a few days on from full, and we actually saw it before clouds rolled in and concealed it entirely. There was fresh snow in the garden at sunrise yesterday and ice in the heart of the birdbath, the sound of snapping and crackling as winter birds danced from twig to brittle twig among the bare shrubberies and did a little chilled singing to greet the day.
Now and then, there are brilliant blue days in late March, but we are back to winter for the next several days, leaden skies from here to there, bitter winds out of the north, snow and ice pellets, sometimes freezing rain. We wandered in the woods for a few hours this week, but after only a few clicks, my fingers were blue, and back into heavy gloves they went. Wonder of wonders, the gnarly old willows down by the stream were putting up lovely furry catkins, and the icicles below cradled tiny branches and fragile scraps of green.
Strange imagery for Easter week perhaps, but what my native place often looks like at this time of the year. Snow blanketed everything in my favorite woodland clearing, but water in the creek at my feet was running free and singing - song and flow are still percolating in my thoughts this morning.
There is rising everywhere as Gaia Sophia awakens and opens her arms. There is light in the icicles, in thawing streams and fuzzy little willow buds.