Tuesday, March 21, 2017 - Daily Notes, From the Editor
Sunday was the last day of winter. It's gone now. Poof! Spring.
Two magicians arrived at my doorstep at four o'clock in the afternoon. The little one wore shorts, a heart tee-shirt, and no socks. The sun was shining. Her mother wore a blue sweater and a long down coat, offering me tulips and a humorous eye roll as they entered. It was a silent acknowledgment of both the winter temperature (only 8 degrees above freezing outside) and the spring-like hope of a Seattle child who sees the sun.
We sat on the floor around a bowl of water, a globe, a candle, and a feather. I had snipped a long stem from the Cecil Bruner rosebush out my window. Tiny leaves, new spring growth, emerged from the branch and the tip held a winter-hardened rose hip. We used it to stir.
But first, we ate strawberries, raspberries, blackberry fruit soda and jelly beans. Because that is what you serve to an eight-year-old enchantress on the last day of winter.
We smudged our circle with cedar smoke and took turns clearing the space with the sounds of a brass bowl being struck by a wooden stick, and giggles. We each held the world in our hands for a moment, shaking it gently.
Writing down words on little pieces of paper, we offered the cosmos things we'd like to surrender. The little witch seemed confused at first at this idea of "surrender" but she caught on quickly, and soon had folded several small papers with secret things to release...things only a girl child can know.
Then she said, "Now, what can we wish for?"
This is why you always leave room in a ritual for the unexpected. This is why you invite children whenever you can. They are wise. They know. They bring truth and hope. So we wished. We wrote those down, too.
One by one, we lit our tiny papers on fire and dropped them in the big bowl of water. Some we read aloud. Others remained private, a conversation between one woman and her universe.
Then, we stirred it all.
The air smelled like roasting marshmallows, and ashes circled the bottom of the bowl. We ceremoniously poured the cinder water into the earth outside my door, and covered what was left with brown leaves. It was a fitting burial and an optimistic planting at once.
We talked about magic. How it is simply the movement of life force. It is using our energy and our attention to shift and change the world around us.
We stirred it all.
We welcomed spring.
Laura Lowery is the founder, editor and publisher of Lucia. She does her best to lead a creative life. Whether triumphant or stumbling, Laura shares daily notes (that are often weekly) here on luciajournal, including stories, behind-the-scenes happenings, little doses of inspiration, and large quantities of curiosity and heart. She is pleased to meet you.