This is the multi-layered, reflecting view on the last night before leaving our little apartment in Portland’s Old Port for DC–and on the eve of the subtle and strange pagan holiday called Imbolc. Imbolc marks the first stirring of life, literally meaning “in the belly,” since in the Celtic year this is when ewes become pregnant. But, especially in Maine, that miracle is not apparent on the surface. It’s a mysterious and delicate moment when we need to take promises on trust–that seeds will sprout though they look small and dry, that spring will come although there’s snow everywhere. If you have experience learning to let the flow of the universe in, you will know that that level of trust is not easy to find. It is earned by being exacting about everything we _can_ control. I think of Imbolc as a time to test sincerity, to make sure that my goals are in harmony with my best self–and if not, to let them go. How appropriate that this challenging and inspiring day celebrates Brigid, powerful goddess of poetry and healing–surely a Goddess of authenticity and risk. I love a good deadline, and this Imbolc, I have honored Her in the midst of moving by officially completing the ms. of my next book of poems. May Brigid’s magick keep my Muse true. How are you planning to mark Imbolc? I hope you will share your thoughts with me and other readers in the Comments.