Imbolc

This morning, in the valley,
I saw a maiden drink milk from the stream.
Blessed be the wells, lactating life.
Blessed be the tender courage of beginnings.

Yes,
Imbolc arrived on a breath of warmth today.
In the forest, on the moor, by the river,
I looked for where the earth was cracked,
for nails in the dirt,
for Persephone digging herself out
of winter’s mouth.

And I found her.
Her fingers growing from the soil,
with the promise of flowers.