The fog in the valley is whiter than usual. Thick, still, eerie, yes – but bright, wrapping me in a cocoon of something that’s not-quite-light.
Bulbs are pushing strongly through the ground, peeping above the snow that lies still frozen. Blue tits are popping in and out of the bird box. Fox and squirrel prints track around the house, the usually invisible trails highlighted in snowfall. Deer have returned to the abandoned builder’s yard surrounding the house. Things are stirring – and yet I am not.
Imbolc this year has brought a rush of energy. From the stillness and dark of solstice, life returns once more, speeding towards the springtime of a few weeks away yet. Days are lengthening, seeds are beginning to be sown. But something holds me here, in a dream, in stasis. I need to stop, whilst everything rushes onwards, building into the coming symphony of spring.
I float. I float, in this thick white fog, breathing it into my lungs. I watch as my twitter account passes the 30-day deletion period and disappears quietly into the ether. The usual tie to the news, to connection, fades away. Stillness remains. It is time to hide away, for some reason yet unknown.
This time I spend creating. Making things with my hands, lost in flow. A wave of creativity, rising when everything else is stripped away. I don’t know why I need to do this, but I find a small joy in letting go and riding this tide. I trust in it now. I no longer fight it.
There is freedom in stillness. Stepping away from manufactured meaning and finding truth in my hands, healing in my words. Small actions, nesting, clearing out, planting. The rhythms of the world beat on, but the slow beat of my self isn’t ready yet. I need a little more time. I need a little more space.
So I play with clay, making birds and fish. I hammer metal into spirals and thread sparkly glass beads into strings where they catch the light. Cleaning, cleaning, cleaning. I embrace the sporadic clear-outs, a sudden urge to purge and let go, something deep rising, bubbling, and breathing out into the world.
This time, it’s all okay. There is no fight left in me now to rail against this rhythm. I know it will pass, like the seasons, like the tides. I trust in my self, even if I can’t articulate the reasons why. This stillness is healing, in some way. I carry on, day by day, and place faith in these small things.