Living the Wheel: Seasonal Musings of the Pagan Year

Thoughts and musings of the wheel of the Pagan Year.

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Winds of Change

 

“Blow, wind, oh, blow with all your might!

 Blow Conrad’s cap right out of sight,

 and make him chase it everywhere

 until I’ve braided all my hair

 and put it up all right.”

 ~The Goose Girl

 

     Through the living room windows I see it: whirlwinds of snow twirling

down the street, passersby clutching their coats as the tails flap in a Mary

Poppinsesque manner. Outside the walls of my second-floor apartment I

hear it, fierce, haunting, enticing. Tree branches tap the windows and storm

panes rattle. There is no wind like a March wind, and though it may yet be

February, March has sent a breath of air to stir snow and souls. What dreams

does it carry, what regrets are swept away as the cold Spring winds sweep

across fields and tunnel through village streets? Soon fields will be plowed,

livestock will begin to bear young, and winter winds will be a sorry memory

as the west wind carries with it the scent of honey and grass. While I haven’t

seen any geese returning to northern waters, there are plenty of robins tip-

toeing across still frozen lawns, and yesterday I stood outside my snow

covered car listening to a wood pecker’s rhythmic tap-tapping. Icicles may

be dripping their lives away, but each moment here feels like a lifetime.

 

            Springtime is a time of change and growth. Heralded by wind’s call, spring enters in a bluster of sound and color. From brown and gray the land grows green, gold, red as flowers blossom and fields sprout. Spring fever grips us all, teasing and flirting, causing us to run gleefully out to dance beneath the moon, despite still-frigid nights. In this season of soon-to-be growth we must always look forward; the seeds planted today will be thready green shoots in two weeks, eggs in nests will be a chorus of infant songs in just a few months. What kinds of growth do we foresee for ourselves? There is a feeling in the air that the wind in February lacks, a hint of something alluring...something that can only be spring taking hold, life renewing, fresh beginnings and hopeful plans. It makes me want to drop all pretenses of responsible adulthood and find a kite and head for the park.

 

            Once there evidence of spring is barely apparent: patches of mud scattered amid crust-covered soggy snow, perhaps a faint green fuzz on the ground that will soon be a narcissus or tulip. As the land grows so too do we. Our hearts open, our souls spark, they stretch and grow as do plants and animals. Enjoy your internal springtime; allow yourself to grow and to change as you need to. Our lives move forward as we move forward. As we grow so too do our prospects.

 

  

 

~ “Springtime’s comin’,” he said. “Cannot tha’ smell it?”

 Mary sniffed and thought she could.

 “I smell something nice and fresh and damp,” she said.

 “That’s th’ good rich earth,” he answered, digging away. “It’s in a

good humor makin’ ready to grow things. In th’ flower gardens out there

 things will be stirrin’ down below in th’ dark. Th’ sun’s warmin’ ‘em.

 You’ll see bits o’ green spikes stickin’ out o’ th’ black earth after a bit.” ~

 ~ Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden

 

 

 

 

 

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I am a writer and poet living in western Massachusetts. I have a degree in English Lit, with a focus on the nineteenth century, and am working toward a degree in Women's Studies as well. My work has previously appeared in The Pagan Activist, The Pagan Review, GrannyMoon's Morning Feast, and The Montague Reporter. I am currently working on a series of children's books, a novel trilogy, and a poetry manuscript (I simply can't do one thing at a time!). I also have several random fantasy-based short story projects that I attack once in a while.   I am a Dianic Pagan and practice Kitchen Wicca, and am also a Reiki Master. For a glimpse into my own little corner of reality, you can stop in and visit me at Ellie.

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