The Gift of Bees in the Season of Candlemas
Some say that unto bees a share is given Of the Divine Intelligence, and to drink Pure draughts of ether; for God permeates all – Earth, and wide ocean, and the vault of heaven – From whom flocks, herds, men, beasts of every kind, Draw each at birth the fine essential flame. — The Georgics, Virgil
There is a serpent that lives in the earth. Quietly slumbering now in the season of snow and dream, she breathes in and out the white bees from her great mouth, and shifts just so in the heartbeat darkness at the center of the spinning planet. Imbolc, the season of singing in our winter sleep; season of hope and feast of light. Candlemas, the coming of Bride, the advent of snowdrops and milk, poetry and fire. Starlight. The moss beneath the cold, the cold mixed with melt, the cold so sweet it electrifies the mind with memories of red fruit and blackberries. A stag with butter-yellow candles arrayed on his holy tines. Prophecy and purification.