Welcoming in the First Light

Imbolc: The First Light After the Long Dark

Imbolc arrives quietly.

It doesn’t burst in like spring, and it doesn’t ask us to wake fully from our winter slumber.  It comes as a subtle shift, a soft brightening at the edges of the dark. A single candle lit at dawn. A thaw beginning beneath frozen ground. A knowing in the body that the longest night has passed.

Imbolc marks the halfway point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. It is the first spark that initiates the return of the light, even while we remain firmly within winter’s cocoon.

This is a season of planning for the seeds we will plant once spring does arrive.

Still Winter, But No Longer the Deepest Dark

At Imbolc, we are still gestating.

In many places, the land remains cold and bare.  In my forest it is 10 degrees Fahrenheit and the deep freeze has a tight grip on the land.  And yet it is undeniable that something has shifted.  Gazing up at the hazy sunshine through the clouds in late afternoon, I feel this shift.  It is lighter and brighter.  There is an opening forming in the sky and more light is reaching us now.  

The body recognizes this before the mind does.

My body experiences this as a quickening.  A bubbly and effervescent rising in my system that contained but joyful.  And on the heals of this, my body lets out a deep exhale. A felt understanding that we are going to make it through. That the darkest night has passed, even if there is still more winter ahead.

Imbolc is the dawn on the Wheel of the Year. If the year were a single day, this would be the moment just before sunrise, when the sky lightens but the sun has not yet appeared.

The Candle in the Dark

The symbol of Imbolc is often a single candle burning.  This single candle will grow and grow just a little bit each day until it becomes the massive bonfire at Beltane. 

Imbolc invites an awareness that transformation does not begin with force. It begins with presence. With tending. With protecting the small flame until it has enough strength to grow.

This is not the time to push forward or demand clarity about what comes next. It is a time for gentle orientation.  We turn toward the light without rushing ahead of ourselves.

The single flame reminds us that big movements can begin simply.   

Emergence From the Womb of Winter

Imbolc is an emergence, not an exit.

It is the moment of stepping to the mouth of the cave, blinking in the light, noticing the sound of dripping water, the subtle movement of life returning. Patches of green may begin to show beneath melting snow. Birds may be heard again. The air feels different.

And internally, we may feel a similar stirring.

There is often a desire at this time to clear out what has grown stale—to open windows, to let in fresh air, to compost what no longer serves. This might show up physically, emotionally, or energetically. A gentle purging. A readiness to release without digging too deeply.

Imbolc asks us to notice, not to excavate.

A Season of Subtle Awakening

This is a season of listening closely.

What is stirring beneath the surface?
What wants warmth and nourishment?
What is not yet ready to be acted upon, but wants to be acknowledged?

Imbolc is not the moment for planting. It is the moment for preparing the ground. For tending the inner hearth. For returning to fundamentals: rest, nourishment, warmth, care.

In ancestral agrarian cultures, this was often the time when animals began to give birth and milk returned after the long winter. After months of preserved food and scarcity, this first milk was deeply fortifying and a sign that the growing season would come.

There is a sweetness to Imbolc that is ordinary and profound at the same time. Nourishment that restores trust in life.

Honoring the In-Between

Imbolc holds the wisdom of the in-between.

We are no longer in the deepest dark, but we are not yet in the light. We are still protected by winter’s womb even as we turn toward what is coming. This season teaches patience, trust, and attunement to timing.

It reminds us that beginnings are often quiet.
That light returns gradually.
That we do not have to rush our becoming.

Imbolc invites us to tend the small flame.  To listen, to warm, to nourish, and to trust that what has begun will grow in its own time.