It was the longest Imbolc.
She was a burgeoning seed, nourished and ready to burst into life,
Yet..
Dormant.
Fearful of where she had landed.
For she did not belong within the orderly mandala of colourful blooms set within the pristine lawn.
She was a wildflower.
And they were sure to pick and pull at her, to stop her in her tracks.
And so she sat safe in the soil of her long Imbolc.
Yet, above the surface,
The wheel had turned again,
and again,
and again.

The darkness grew heavy,
A terrifying deathly pressure was bearing down upon her,
And in her suffering, she was drowning in regret of a life not lived.
A pain so intense, she no longer feared her demise,
But yet she cried..
“I want to live,
I want to live,
I want to live!”
And in that moment the ground broke
And in the crush, she had broken open.
There in a tiny chasm in the frosty earth,
the greenest shoot appeared,
where for a while she sat in awe of the light…

And so she crept,
And then she crawled,
And then she climbed,
And from then onward,
she always reached toward the light.
And they picked,
And they pulled,
But she did not care,
Because in her darkest days she realised her roots would grow long and deep.

***

The wheel had turned again,
And it was her shortest Imbolc,
For she had dared to bloom.
Now her roots had spread and weaved within the mycelium, way beyond the orderly mandala set within the pristine lawn.
And as spring broke, the light beckoned her home,
To where all the wildflowers danced fearlessly to the rhythm of the seasons, and the butterflies suckled upon the nectar of their dance.
And she was free.
Oh… she was free.