I did some full-on wintering this year. I never used to do any wintering; when I lived in the town, winter was a time of busyness, of night classes and meetings and social engagements. It hit me hard, that first winter in the wilds of Donegal. Everyone just disappeared indoors and nothing happened for a good three months. After 17years here, I've become a wintering pro. I love that time of turning the gaze inward, slowing down and taking stock. I've come to deeply treasure Winter's quiet and its many gifts.
This year, perhaps more than any other, I've had a powerful need for Winter's rest. My mother died in early September and I limped through Autumn and staggered to a halt sometime around Winter Solstice. It was then I felt the winter quiet as a grace, a compassionate holding, a safe space in which to sit with grief. I hadn't realised before just how utterly exhausting the grief process is. Holy cow! It drains you dry! But Winter, in her great kindness, said, "Stop here and rest a while, child." So I did. I wore pyjamas. I took short walks. I neglected housework. I let myself be pinned to the sofa with sadness. I let myself do nothing but feel. Is my grieving all done? Ha! By no means but I've gathered up a little energy for the next stretch.
On February 1st, Imbolc, I climbed up to Beltony Stone circle for a simple ceremony to welcome Spring. And something has begun to stir in me; the tiniest tip of a green shoot.
Wishing you the sweet, bright blessings of Imbolc,
Karen
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