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a taste of spring
Mar. 21st, 2008 07:16 pmThe spring equinox, Ostara, is my favorite time of year. This was my chance to go insane at the flower market, bringing home tulips, hyacinths, carnations, forsythia branches, everything and anything to turn the Aerie into a bower.
Out came the boxes of pysanky, decorated with curious symbols of the season and of fertility.
Out came a change of clothing, soft beiges replacing my usual black.
Wednesday night, thirteen of us gathered in the city to make ritual, to travel the ancient pathways to commune with She Who Awakens the Earth. Thirteen chanted and danced to turn the wheel of the year.
Then we dined, and planned a brighter future. Seeds were sown, fragile young ideas to be nurtured and tended.
Midnight found me walking alone through the city (really, it's safe where I was), still taking in the wonder of a perfect spring evening, breathing in the gentle dampness and somehow rising above pain and fatigue. I caught the last train home and tumbled into bed in the wee hours of Thursday morning.
Thursday, I napped on the couch most of the day, but arose at sundown to make the traditional dinner of tender salad greens with flower petals, seeded bread and cheese, and potato salad with hard cooked eggs. All foods of the season. After dinner, more ritual at my personal altar. Impromptu ritual. Spoken out loud, with gesture and presence. All the things that this once reluctant priestess has come to love. Silly but reverent times with the Divine, leaving me knowing how a spring bulb BUSTS OUT(to be said with a shout) and knowing how to tickle the wind as it blows past my leaves. I mean my up-reaching hands.
Can't you feel springtime in all that? How has the season touched you?
Out came the boxes of pysanky, decorated with curious symbols of the season and of fertility.
Out came a change of clothing, soft beiges replacing my usual black.
Wednesday night, thirteen of us gathered in the city to make ritual, to travel the ancient pathways to commune with She Who Awakens the Earth. Thirteen chanted and danced to turn the wheel of the year.
Then we dined, and planned a brighter future. Seeds were sown, fragile young ideas to be nurtured and tended.
Midnight found me walking alone through the city (really, it's safe where I was), still taking in the wonder of a perfect spring evening, breathing in the gentle dampness and somehow rising above pain and fatigue. I caught the last train home and tumbled into bed in the wee hours of Thursday morning.
Thursday, I napped on the couch most of the day, but arose at sundown to make the traditional dinner of tender salad greens with flower petals, seeded bread and cheese, and potato salad with hard cooked eggs. All foods of the season. After dinner, more ritual at my personal altar. Impromptu ritual. Spoken out loud, with gesture and presence. All the things that this once reluctant priestess has come to love. Silly but reverent times with the Divine, leaving me knowing how a spring bulb BUSTS OUT(to be said with a shout) and knowing how to tickle the wind as it blows past my leaves. I mean my up-reaching hands.
Can't you feel springtime in all that? How has the season touched you?
