Imbolg-Spring

Yesterday we gathered to make Brigit's Crosses again to welcome in Spring.
I am posting a couple of poems posted before at this time of year.

 Brigit’s Cross

Its strength lies in the fold.

You bend the rush firm and hold,

fingers fastening it to the centre.

Turn it clockwise and return,

again and again.

It’s the last rush that decides whether

your lattice will hold

or fall apart

or hang slack

woven through with chinks of light.

At Imbolg

Stooped to the rhythm of sickle

we gathered rushes from the bog.

Or, with our hands, pulled stems

that raised wheals and reddened palms.

We lay them in piles.

Then folded and turned and turned

and folded until we made a centre

that would hold against fire.

Not knowing then that she was daughter of Dagda

Celtic Goddess, Crone turned Maiden each Spring

and that we were cutting deeper than bog

i mbolg, at imbolg.

Copyright with Cathy Leonard 2016