March 22

The sun drew me out,
not gold this sunrise,
but lemon – sharp, sweet, bright, bright, bright.

We even ran a little bit
in the sweet, fresh, north-scented air.

Just beautiful.
Thank you, gods and guides and guardians, for this day.

My gratitude gift this morning is to return again to the lesson
in how to resist making myself smaller so that others can grow.
I’m not the only one who loses out if I don’t resist.
Remember that, greybird, remember that.

Hold my ground with grace and peace,
Take up my space with grace and peace,

…You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here…

By Max Ehrmann © 1927

March 19

Eighteen hours to the equinox, my friends.
A day for contemplating balance, equity, compassion,
Justice.

Mercy.

Compassion, patience, acceptance, evenness, peace.

To remind me of foundational principles,
Snow falls,
Soft and silent,
on all.

March 14th

Morning coffee,
Clear sky.

Nearly clear sky,
salmon-tinged puffy clouds
low on the horizon.
Color gently saturates the greys of dawnlight,
a soft, soft green which will enrich as the earth spins a little more.

Birches hold on to their black-and-white,
Bare reminders that it is still winter,
and that a Twilight Land is never far.

March 13th

Good morning.

I am taking deep breaths of rainy air, ground squishing gently underfoot.
There’s a stillness to enjoy, no wind, no critter moving about, no cars up on the road
– on our unpaved, bag-end road with only four houses beyond ours –
just the soft plinking of drops on leaves.

I don’t know if you can take a saunter, my friend,
whether you have time for one,
whether it would take you into crowds to roll or walk outside your door,
or whether you are stuck indoors.

I’m going to take a walk for you,
and share the sights,
just in case you needed me to.

February 26th

There’s dawn-light now when we waken,
and on an overcast, heavy day in February I can see no difference between dawn-light and dawn,

the sun might be there,
or it might not,
and all is pearl-grey with bare black branches.

There is a peace, and I wish it into my bones.

February 22nd

Yesterday I reached for a seldom-used notebook –

it’s pretty, you see, so it is hard to be sure that it’s for me –

and I turned a few pages to find that I had made a star map. I had been struck by a morning so lovely as to record it in pen and ink in the pretty notebook (the silver one which is for magical things).

There I had set old friends, Scorpius and Serpens caput, and the moon just so, and the bare branched trees before them.

This morning, I am up in the first touch of dawnlight to velvet blackness.

There they are.