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Everything that was held is beginning to move. The breath of change.
March in Ireland is wind. Not a gentle breeze — the real thing. The Atlantic arriving with something to say. The bare branches moving. The sense that something has been released that was held all winter. The Spring Equinox arrives within this cycle — the balance point, day and night equal, before the light half of the year begins its ascent.
Wind in the Druidic understanding was never merely weather. It was the breath of the living world — the force that carries seeds to new ground, strips away what is dead, connects one part of the landscape to another. The Moon of Winds asks what has been held still all winter that is now ready to move. Not what you want to move. What is actually stirring.
The dark half of the year is nearly over. Bealtaine is ahead. What are you carrying toward it?
Everything that was held is beginning to move. The breath of change.
March in Ireland is wind. Not a gentle breeze — the real thing. The Atlantic arriving with something to say. The bare branches moving. The sense that something has been released that was held all winter. The Spring Equinox arrives within this cycle — the balance point, day and night equal, before the light half of the year begins its ascent.
Wind in the Druidic understanding was never merely weather. It was the breath of the living world — the force that carries seeds to new ground, strips away what is dead, connects one part of the landscape to another. The Moon of Winds asks what has been held still all winter that is now ready to move. Not what you want to move. What is actually stirring.
The dark half of the year is nearly over. Bealtaine is ahead. What are you carrying toward it?