This is the last true week of Winter.
|my favorite Victorian winter's wonderland|
Imbolc is in seven (7) days. Imbolc is the ancient Irish celebration of the FIRST DAY OF SPRING. It is the celebration of "in betweens." I'll write more about it in honor of the day. But, I just wanted to recognize the already beginnings.
My Maple tree is already showing her red bud. She is awakening for Spring.
The hawks begin their mating cries high in the tops of the pines. The ring neck doves are in the maples. And, they are crying out to each other, ready for nesting.
I remember a line from "The Yearling" by Marjorie Rawlings. Pa, tells Jodi, when he hears the whippoorwill, it is 'a time to begin plantin'. The risks for the winter frosts is over.
For years we have had a type of whippoorwill or nighthawk in our woods. It is called a chuckswillwidow. Tom and I have seen some nesting on the ground, spread out over their eggs laid out on the sand. They blend most perfectly with the underbrush we almost stepped on one as we veered from a dirt pathway.
To see them fly at night, they resemble an owl. Anyway, these days, we still live adjacent to environmentally protected lands (we are so thankful our fate fell this way) and we hear them call to each other in the early Spring. So, I wait to hear them to know the threat of frosts are really over.
Keep warm. This, hibernation time, is only for a few more weeks. I am going to finish reading a few books and a few crafts I have been putting off and enjoy these last few days of true Winter.