Quaker Pagan Reflections

This has been a wierd, wierd winter here in New England... a kind of winter in name only, rarely dipping below freezing, with no snow or ice anywhere. But just this past week, we finally got a taste of cold--nights down to the single digits, frost and even a dusting of snow. My hands are chapped for the first time this season. Oddly, the cold has given me the first breath of spring. I walked out onto my front porch today, took a breath of cold, crisp air, and basked in the brilliant (if chilly) morning light, and I thought, "Spring!" This is not as odd as it sounds, actually. Ever since becoming Pagan--in other words, for most of my adult life--I've lived in places where Imbolc, the sabbat that marks the first stirrings of spring, is marked by clear, cold weather and the subtlest signs of springtime. If you look closely, there are beginning to be slight swellings at the ends of the twigs on trees. And there's a different flavor in the air, somehow, and a differe...