The Fool lifts his chin and gazes upward. Risking foolishness beneath a bright sun, with a lightness of step, he approaches a precipice he may just fall into. He is hopeful: more interested in potential than guarantees. With a white rose of innocence in his hand, and a small bag slung over his shoulder, he expresses a pared-down sense of enoughness, and a willingness to GO. A little white dog plays at his feet, up for the challenge, excited to accompany him, wherever they are headed, together.

This time of year brings the Celtic cross-quarter holiday known as Imbolc, marking the midpoint between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. Can you feel the in-between of it? The word “Imbolc” means “in the belly,” and refers to an awakening that is beginning, but which is not yet born.

It began with a Southern drawl and being welcomed home. It began with the dual move of generosity undergirded by defensiveness and hair-trigger avoidance of further humiliation. Even earlier, it began with war. It began with shooting your neighbor in fields of grass. It began with cannon balls stuck in tree trunks.