It may seem un-Pagan of me (love Nature and all her cycles, blahblahblah), but I am so, SO incredibly done with winter this year in ways I have been so done with it before.
I live in Northeast Ohio. I have lived here my whole life. I have always relished the seasons–in fact, my love of seasonal changes is one of the reasons I have cited for NOT relocating. Fall isn’t fall without crisp breezes, red leaves, and pumpkins so abundant you’d think they were going to start falling out of our ears. Not that you don’t get these things elsewhere, but this is home. And I get it–if I’m going to have seasons, I’m going to have winter. Cold wind, snow, icicles, salt eating out the undercarriage of my car. That’s fine.
For months now, we have been covered in snow. It’s up to the level of my downstairs window sill–without drifting or shoveling it there. My driveway looks like a tunnel. I’m amazed I haven’t gotten hate mail from the post office asking us to unbury the mailbox more thoroughly so they can deliver our non-hate mail to us. It’s COLD. Bitterly, bitterly cold–the kind of cold that just saps your energy.
It makes me tired. It makes me cranky. I crave the energy of the sun. I am constantly surrounded by dormancy. Where are the signs of life? Of light? Of hope? Why does it feel like spring when the temperature creeps up to 25F–it’s still freezing! It’s a lie, a damned lie.
When I drive into work in the evening, the sun now lights my way. When I leave in the morning, it will make the journey a little more precarious by shining right into my windshield. Next week there is a day forecasted to be 40F. I see tracks in the snow of little bunnies hopping across my driveway–I think if they tried the lawn they’d find themselves buried in a couple feet of frost.
It’s the small clues that give me hope. No, winter really is ending, if I can just hold on. This is true of magick. Magick isn’t in the fireworks–the miraculous healings that result in someone becoming cancer free, the luck charms that bring in lottery winnings, love spells that end in marriage, 2.5 kids, 1.8 cars, and a white picket fence (those were the average statistics when I was in middle school, it’s probably changed since then)…magick is in the little things. It’s the subtle shifts of energy that fall into place, like a combination lock. Half twist to the left, quarter turn right, just the barest nudge back over…pull gently, and BAM! It’s open. Don’t just look for magick in the grandiose, look for how it enters your every day life.
Magick is in the living.