A short story on Imbolc or Brigid’s Day
The rain continues outside. It has been continuous all day with no clearing in sight. Perhaps it will be an early spring.
Good thing she collected the reeds from the marsh several days ago when the skies had been bluer. They will be formed into crosses later this night and hung over the doorways in blessing.
Tonight the reeds lay in the middle of her table alongside a row of green and white candles which will be lit once everyone arrives for the evening. It is then her house will be filled with the sounds of love and laughter.
This is no ordinary night. This is the eve of Imbolc or Brigid’s eve.
As the namesake for this particular goddess of Celtic lore of home, hearth, and poetry, she feels a special and unified kinship on this day. She is named Brigid because her birthday falls during this time, although everyone calls her Brie.
Brie glances out the window now, noticing the last rays of light on the horizon. The days have magically grown slightly longer since Solstice and the first buds of green are beginning to show upon the tree branches. Spring is on its way and tonight she celebrates its quickening.
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