It's the morning of the Eve of Oimelc. I sit on the front porch with our youngest coven kid, waiting for the school bus.
As we wait, we sing songs of spring.
Walker in the silent places,
Walker where no one may go,
our aloneness cries out to you,
Walker in the Snow.
The Arctic cold that has paralyzed the city for days has finally broken. There's even a little moisture in the air. A dusting of snow has fallen overnight; the snow diamonds sparkle.