There was a storm last night with rain and heavy winds. Now everything is quiet, and a blue and white sky whispers a promise of a sunny day. All the birds seem to basking in the magic of dawn. Several waterfalls are roaring in the distance, mingling with the sound of little streams that trail down rock and crevice. The world is cleansing itself in anticipation of spring.
The sun is on the mountain across the water, lighting up a forest of dull green and brown. I started walking, but then just had to stop and sit. Words were in my head, and I know I had to write them down before they disappeared.
I feel such joy at the beauty around me. My soul is drinking it all in. I remember sitting in a forest in California, among streams and giant trees. It was only a short visit before returning to the city. But it fed something in me, something that was starving. I remember thinking that I could live on and for beauty alone. Beauty and magic.
The spring equinox is approaching. I will dress in white, and if there is no snow and ice to hinder it, I will climb a specific hill with my husband to greet the sunrise.
Being back in Norway I search of remnants of the ancient religion, of ancient magic. I bought a mini series on DVD, and went through some trouble to get it, simply because it inspired something in me. I loved the scenes with the older woman, the grandmother. She would wear a knitted shawl around her shoulders, secured by a bronze brooch, her silver hair tied into a bun. The children would gather around her as she shared with them tales of old. Stories about the vikings and their mythology. They did rituals together, and the kids went on a dangerous quest of their own, to save the world from Loki and Ragnarok.
It was a kids movie, the acting a bit shaky, the Gods silly and not at all how I would imagine them, but I loved every moment of it. Especially those parts with the grandmother, of candles, sacred food and stories.
So I look for it here. Listening intently to the land to hear whispers of the ancient ways. Of celebrating the change of the seasons, and the return of the sun.
I’m sitting on the frozen ground, on a square of dark pink wool, a stubborn patch of snow at my feet. The lake moves in little ripples. The mountain and forest is bathed in sunlight.
White clouds float across a blue sky, the wind barely touching the trees, my hair, my face. I’m not cold. Perhaps spring has indeed come. I make out a few black dots on the water. A family of ducks. Sometimes I see swans, but they’re not here now.
I was eager to get up this morning. In the past I would have wanted to stay under the covers, hiding from the world, thinking everything was just too much. Things are shifting inside of me, and just as the wheel turns, the world changing, I too change. An eagerness to fill my day with magic is starting to take hold. I’m finally allowing myself to do what I love.
If you could fill your day with anything, what would it be?