poem for imbolg...

we are mid-way between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox, call it what you will (Groundhog's Day, St.Brigid's Day, Imbolg, etc...)


as inspired by Grace's Poppies :

A Walk

My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance-

and charges us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave...
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.

~Rainer Maria Rilke
Translated by Robert Bly