This dark Imbolc moon brings blue skies and a piercingly bright morning to Stroud.  My world around me still sleeps, quietly dreaming, and so would I be, if it wasn’t for my busy hands that keep wanting to make and make, stitch and paint – easing me out of winter. I learned how to weave on a peg loom, with raw fleece at Fernhill Farm in Somerset. I sat by a fire in Kesty and Martin’s woods and wove ash sticks with wool into a Brigids cross. And I have started the artwork for my favourite little summer festival on the other side of the river – the Space for You camp held by Rainbow 2000.

Our valley – called the Heavens, (and I really must find out why) – is full of these dusty hazel catkins right now. While the rest of our house is being turned upside down by building work and upheaval, these are sitting on my window ledge in the  sunshine, watching the mayhem and sighing at their own completeness and promise. If things don’t settle soon, I am going to hop right up there with them where I can breathe in calmness and yellow-out in my own dusty vision of the world.

Hoping the Imbolc brings you seeds of exciting new ideas in your deepest winter compost!