April 2026

Between Ostara and Beltane: Walking the Brightening Path of Spring

As the wheel of the year turns from the gentle balance of Ostara toward the vibrant fire of Beltane, we enter one of the most subtly powerful phases of the seasonal cycle. This is a time of awakening—slow at first, then suddenly all at once—as the earth begins to hum with energy. Between these two sabbats lies a threshold period rich with symbolism, growth, intention, and sensual aliveness.

A Season of Quickening

Ostara (around the Spring Equinox) marks the moment of equilibrium—light and dark held in perfect balance. The earth is stretching, yawning, and shaking off winter’s long sleep. Seeds—literal and symbolic—are planted, dreams stirred from their winter rest, and the first hints of rebirth shimmer across the land.

But the weeks that follow?
This is when the magic really begins.

Nature accelerates. Buds burst open. Birds return. The air shifts from cold to something sweeter, greener, more expectant. This inter‑sabbat period is often called a quickening: a sense of rising life-force that seems to hum beneath your feet.

Cultivating Intentions

Just as seeds push tiny roots deeper into the soil, the intentions set at Ostara begin to take form now. This is a powerful moment to:

• Revisit your plans for the year
• Add energy to projects that require momentum
• Gently course-correct anything that feels misaligned

You don’t need dramatic change—this is the season of steady growth. Consistency matters more than intensity. Even small actions can yield surprising results during this fertile period.

The Body Awakens

Between Ostara and Beltane, we often feel life returning to our own bodies too. There’s natural uplift: more energy, more movement, more desire to be outdoors. Creativity awakens. Passions stir. The senses sharpen.

It’s no coincidence—Beltane, after all, is the festival of fertility, fire, sensuality, and union. The approach to Beltane is like a slow crescendo, preparing us for a celebration of embodied life.

During these weeks, gentle self-care can become a ritual in its own right:

• Earthy foods
• Walks in green places
• Fresh flowers indoors
• Stretching, dancing, embodied practices

These small acts align you with the season’s rising vitality.

Nature’s Lessons in This Transition

The journey from Ostara to Beltane mirrors a universal pattern:

• Balance → Growth
• Potential → Manifestation
• Planning → Action
• Dormancy → Creativity

Nature offers countless metaphors during this time. Watch a tree bud. Notice how it doesn’t hurry—and yet it never stops moving forward. This is the rhythm available to you as well.

Rituals & Reflections for the Season

Here are some gentle practices to honour this magical in‑between time:

🌱 Tend Your Seeds

If you planted anything at Ostara—plants, goals, intentions—check in with them. Nourish what’s growing.

🔥 Light a Candle for Momentum

A small flame symbolizes the fire building toward Beltane. Sit with it while visualizing what you want to bring into full bloom.

🌿 Forage or Walk Mindfully

Notice which plants are awakening. The simple act of paying attention deepens your seasonal connection.

✨ Refresh Your Living Space

Spring cleaning isn't just practical—it creates space for new energy to enter.

💚 Reconnect With Joy

Between these sabbats, joy is especially potent. Seek out what makes your heart feel alive.

Approaching Beltane

As Beltane draws closer, the world becomes almost impossibly lush. Flowers unfurl. Bees buzz. The air fills with warmth and excitement. It’s a reminder that the year is shifting from dreaming into doing—from ideas into embodiment.

The time between Ostara and Beltane invites us to prepare—to open, to grow, to step into our own creative fire.

This is the season of becoming.

)o(

Join us for our pub moot on 18 April.  Alice will be hosting a talk on the Goddess Ishtar/Innana.

We'll be in the woods at RSPB Sandwell Valley to celebrate Beltane on 2 May.

Also wishing Lucian a happy birthday!

)o(

Enjoy this time of awakening

BB

Annie J

 

 

March 2026

Blossoming: The Sweet Interlude Between Imbolc and Ostara

Welcome to the quiet, hopeful heartbeat of the year. If you’ve ever felt the world sigh in relief as the snow thaws and the rain stops. you already know the magic that lives in the gap between Imbolc and Ostara. We call it Blossoming, and it’s the season that gently nudges us from the hush of winter toward the vibrant chorus of spring.

Daylight Starts to Stretch

Since the first fire of Imbolc, the sun has been adding a little more gold to each sunrise. The mornings no longer arrive with a shroud of grey; they creep in on a pale pink canvas, linger a minute longer, and retreat with a softer, more forgiving dusk.

Light is the ancient catalyst for change. As the hours lengthen, our internal clocks (our circadian rhythms) feel the shift, and with them our moods, our appetite for movement, and our willingness to plant ideas (both literal and metaphorical).

The First Bold Signs of Green

If you wander a meadow or even a modest town park, you’ll see the first heralds of spring:

• Daffodils—golden trumpets that burst from the soil like tiny sunrise celebrations.
• Tight green buds—curled, almost shy, waiting for the right moment to unfurl.
• Shoots that pierce the remaining frost, reaching for the sky with a tenacity that feels almost reckless.

These “first‑flush” plants are nature’s way of saying, “I’m ready. Are you?”

Winter’s Long Night Is Behind Us

The deep, cold months feel like a long sleep, one we entered unwillingly but exited with a sense of relief. The harsh silence of winter has given way to a subtle, ever‑increasing hum: insects warming in the soil, birds rehearsing their songs, the faint rustle of new leaves.

“Winter is not a season; it’s a story we tell ourselves to make the spring feel more heroic.”

Now is the moment when the hero (you) awakens. The world is still soft enough that your steps won’t crush fresh sprouts, but bright enough that the path ahead is visible. It’s the perfect balance for resolution.

Resolutions in Bloom

The ancient Celts used Imbolc to honour Brigid, the goddess of hearth, healing, and new beginnings. In the modern world, we can borrow that ritual energy:

Resolution

Start a “Morning Light Walk” – just 10‑15 minutes of gentle walking as the sun climbs. Feel the day lengthen with each step.

Plant a small herb garden or a pot of seeds. Watch the green buds appear, and let that be a reminder that ideas need nurturing.

Choose a spring‑related book (folk tales, botany, or a mythic retelling of Ostara) and read a chapter each evening as the evenings grow lighter.

Host a “Daffodil Exchange” – bring a cut flower to a friend, relative, neighbour or colleague, share a story or a recipe, and leave a seed packet in return.

Each of these little acts mirrors the natural world’s gentle progress. The key is starting, not finishing. The first sprout does not become a tree overnight; it simply decides to push its way upward.

The Countdown to Ostara

In three weeks, the sun will stand directly over the equator. The Vernal Equinox (Ostara) will tilt the balance decisively: more light than dark.

• What to expect: Daylight will outpace night by a noticeable margin, and the world will feel more buoyant.
• Ritual suggestion: On the night before Ostara, create a small altar of freshly gathered greens, daffodil stems, and a candle lit at sunset. As the candle burns, speak aloud one intention you’re ready to nurture through the coming season.

When the equinox arrives, celebrate the shift with a simple feast. Perhaps a stew of early spring vegetables, a slice of lemon cake, and a cup of herbal tea. Let the taste of fresh growth remind you that you, too, are part of this seasonal unfolding.

A Closing Whisper

Blossoming is a bridge.  Not a rush, not a pause, but a tender, purposeful transition. As the days stretch, the buds swell, and the daffodils nod their heads in golden approval, feel encouraged to take those first, deliberate steps toward the life you’re designing.

The world is waking; let your spirit awaken with it.

🌿 Happy Blossoming, friends. 🌿

)o(

Join us as we celebrate Ostara and the spring equinox on 21 March in our circle space at RSPB Sandwell Valley.  Full details are on our Facebook and Instagram pages.  Please let us know if you're coming by commenting on the posts!

)o(

Happy birthday to Jo - hope you have a magickal day.

Bright Blessings,

Annie J )o(

 

February 2026

February’s Whisper: The Last Stretch Before Spring

As January’s icy grip finally loosens, we step—perhaps with slightly less hesitation—into February, that quiet herald of change. The days that once crawled beneath leaden skies now carry a new rhythm. The darkness that stretched so long into afternoon begins to fold back, like a curtain lifting on a long-awaited performance. The sun, still shy, lingers a few precious minutes longer each evening, painting the rooftops in hues of soft gold.

It’s been a winter of shadows—weeks of grey days, relentless rain, and the snow storms that clung to the edges of our resolve. Many of us have felt the weight of those dark, dreary weeks, the kind that seep into your bones and whisper doubts about ever seeing green again. But now, just when winter feels most unrelenting, nature begins to conspire with hope.

Look down. Beneath the damp earth, life stirs. Snowdrops—those brave little sentinels in white—have already pierced the soil, their delicate bells nodding in the chill breeze. Nearby, crocuses push through in bursts of purple, yellow, and white, defiant blooms that seem to laugh at the cold. These aren’t just flowers; they’re declarations. The earth, restless and dreaming, is waking up.

And the days—oh, the days are changing. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible until you pause and notice: dinner hour now arrives with twilight still softening the sky, not pitch black. The morning light filters through your window with a little more insistence, coaxing you not to stay under the covers quite so long.

Here’s the secret that February knows: we’re almost through. With only 28 days until the official arrival of spring, we’re not just enduring winter anymore—we’re emerging from it. This final stretch can be the hardest, a kind of emotional and physical fatigue set in by months of shorter days and cold. But it’s also the threshold. Every crocus, every lengthening day, every bird call that carries earlier in the morning—they’re signs not just of nature’s renewal, but of our own reawakening.

So yes, there may still be rain. There may still be mornings where frost blankets the world in silence. But now, with every passing day, the light gains. The earth breathes deeper. And we, alongside it, take heart.

The dark days are almost over. Spring isn’t just coming—she’s already on her way, tiptoeing in on snowdrop stems and crocus petals. Hold on. We’re nearly there!

Shedding skin

It’s not just winter that’s nearly over—frost is fracturing underfoot, yes, and the light lingers longer each dusk, but something deeper is stirring. The Year of the Snake is shedding its silken, secretive skin, slipping silently into memory, coiled now in the wisdom of what was whispered and wound. And with a thunder of hooves against the thawing earth, the Year of the Horse surges forward—mane flying, breath steaming, full of fire and freedom. This is no gentle transition; it’s a charge across the threshold, a call to ride boldly into open plains of possibility. Where the snake knew patience, the horse knows momentum. Where silence ruled, now there’s a rhythm, a gallop in the pulse of the world. Saddle up—direction awaits!

February Moot

On 21 February, we'll be welcoming Tracey Gee who'll be talking to us about spiritual connection.  Tracey is a fabulous psychic and spiritual medium.  We're very much looking forward to this moot, when we'll also telling you all about our very own moot ghost!

Have a very blessed February

Annie J )o(

 

January 2026

Embracing the Stillness: A Journey Through the Celtic Dark Winter

As the earth curls into the heart of winter, the world between Yule (Winter Solstice) and Imbolc becomes a sacred pause—a hush where the light lingers in slumber, and darkness reigns with quiet authority. In the Celtic wheel of the year, this 6-week period is sometimes known as The Dark Winter, a time of stillness, rest, and inner reflection. It’s a stretch of days where the sun climbs just a little higher each morning, imperceptibly, but surely, and where the seeds of spring are hidden beneath the frost.

The Celtic Wheel: A Time Between Worlds

The Celts marked the year with four greater festivals—Yule, Imbolc, Beltane, and Lammas—and four lesser ones. Between each stood a threshold, a season of transition. The Dark Winter, nestled between the solstice and the first stirrings of spring, is a time of gestation as much as it is a time of cold. Yule, with its bonfires and evergreens, celebrates the rebirth of the sun. Imbolc, just ahead, heralds the awakening of Brigid’s flame and the subtle promise of new life. In between, the world is suspended in a cocoon of shadow, where the work of the previous year is digested, and the soul is invited to turn inward.

Themes of Rest and Introspection

Modern life often pressures us to do—to plan, to achieve, to move forward. But The Dark Winter invites a different rhythm. In the Celtic tradition, this is a time to rest, to dream, and to prepare. The land is bare, the nights stretch deep into morning, and nature seems to hold its breath. It’s a reminder that stillness is not stagnation. Just as the roots of trees grow deeper in the cold, we too are called to deepen—through reflection, rest, and intuitive work.

This is a season for:

Journaling: What does your soul need to release? What dreams linger in the shadows?

Dreamwork: Winter dreams are often rich with symbols—keep a journal by your bed.

Creativity: The quiet days invite crafting, writing, or art projects that nourish your spirit.

Honouring Cycles: Reflect on the turning wheel of your own life—loss, rest, renewal.

Rituals to Honor the Dark

While Yule’s fires may have died down, The Dark Winter offers its own sacred practices. Here are a few to connect with this time:

 

Create a Dark Winter Altar: Use evergreens, candles (white or blue for cold fire), stones, and symbols of patience, like holly or oak. Light a candle each week to mark the gradual return of sunlight.

The Cailleach’s Path: In Gaelic lore, the goddess Cailleach rules winter. Honour her by walking in the snow or forest, asking for her wisdom in endurance and resilience.

Imbolc Intentions: Begin planting intentions for next steps in your life. No need to act yet—simply set them aside like seeds, ready to sprout in February’s thaw.

A Night of Stillness: Choose one night to disconnect from screens. Sit by candlelight, meditate, or listen to the silence. Feel the depth of the dark as a cradle for growth.

Anticipating the Turning

Imbolc arrives with the first signs of spring: longer days, the melting snow, the first green shoots beneath the soil. This period is not just about enduring winter, but about preparing to welcome its opposite. Brigid’s fire will soon light the way; the goddess Cailleach may lay down her hammer. In the meanwhile, The Dark Winter teaches us to trust the silence, to know that birth follows hibernation.

In the Celtic tradition, this time was called Geimhreadh, the period of cold, but also the soul’s journey. As you move through January, consider:

What do you need to rest from?

What part of your life needs to “hibernate” to prepare for renewal?

What has Yule given you that’s ready to take root?

Conclusion: The Wisdom of the Midwinter

The Dark Winter is a gentle teacher. It asks us to slow down, to rest not as a last resort, but as an act of faith. In this stillness, we learn to trust the rhythm of the world—to know that after the longest night, the light will return. As you walk through these cold weeks, may you find the courage to embrace shadow, the patience to wait, and the quiet strength of roots growing deep in the dark.

When the first snowdrops pierce the soil in late January or early February, you’ll remember this—this sacred space between endings and beginnings. This is the magic of The Dark Winter: it is not a blank space, but a cradle of possibility.

May your days be warm with the lingering light of Yule, and your heart steady as you await the turning of the wheel at Imbolc. 🌿🕯️

Annie J )o(