Thoughts & a Poem for Féile Bríde

Hey,

Look at that. You made it to another Friday. Me, too. Just today I finally put up the last of the Christmas decorations, swept and polished and lit candles to welcome in the idea of Spring.

It’s St. Brigid’s Day this weekend, and many of the traditions around this Celtic holiday center around “spring cleaning” vibes. Using new brooms, folding reeds into a Brigid’s Cross to hang near the door, sweeping the thresholds, baking bread and putting some cream out (for the Good Folk because you can’t be too careful)… The idea is that this date marks the survival of Winter. It’s an awakening from hibernation and the chance to bring fresh air and life in after months of hunkering down.

I spent a lot of yesterday outside with my dog because it was, inexplicably, 65 degrees here. I let the sun warm my bare arms because, between my weeks in bed recovering from surgery and then the ice storms, I couldn’t remember the last time I felt light on my skin. It was refreshing to be away from my phone and the chaotic barrage of the last week, even for just an hour or two.

I’m trying to get back to writing and reflecting in the morning instead of immediately looking at social media. I’m pivoting my focus to the very real tasks of washing dishes, putting new sheets on the bed, taking walks, journaling and reading things longer than 300-characters. The Broligarchy doesn’t deserve the currency of my time and attention. Doing mundane, lovely things feels increasingly like rebellion.

Here’s a small poem from this morning that helped me to feel hope toward a new season.

Wishing you some small piece of that, too.

Xo,

J.

[Update: the formatting for this won’t play nice so I’m uploading an image of what it’s supposed to look like. Apologies for those of you using alt-text/captions as you won’t get the line breaks!]