Have you ever noticed the light has a different quality in winter? Today the low-slung sun illuminated the hills in a way that seemed to make them glow, almost as if they were lit from within. This is part of the magic of winter.
Every season has its own magic, its own flavour, its own beauty. Observing and marvelling at this ever-changing cycle delights my Pagan heart. In winter I swoon at the way the sun's slanting rays gild the delicate tracery of naked tree limbs against the slate coloured sky. I stand motionless in thrilled awe as a murmuration of starlings swirls before the oncoming dusk. I savour the call and response cries of tawny owls as evening sets in, and the unearthly scream of foxes in the deepest dark of an icy night. I revere the glacial clarity of the moon and stars in a cloudless sky. I relish the sparkle of a frosty morning, as my breath steams and my cheeks tingle with the cold.
Already the earliest signs of spring are appearing - snowdrops, pussy willows and hazel catkins, the wheeling courtship flights of ravens. The days lengthen, at first imperceptibly. Always, the wheel of the year is turning. And always there is something to marvel at, some ephemeral beauty to drink in. How can we not fall in love with the world on a daily basis?