The worms are moving

 At Imbolc I told myself:

I did not rush the thaw. I let it come at my own pace, in my own way.

February proved that was true.

There were quiet mornings, shared meals, sunrise coffee, wrens waking the cardinals,

moments of joy I did not force, only allowed.

And now the full moon rises.

We woke at 3:30 in the morning, rested enough, and left the kids’ driveway at 4am,, coffee in hand, the road dark and open ahead of us. A weekend of family, grandchildren, old friends, noise, food, and careful conversations behind us.

On the way home, the notice came... work has separated me, effective today. I waited for fear. I waited for anger. Instead, I felt steady. 

Tomorrow’s Worm Moon breaks the ground open whether we feel ready or not. The thaw does not ask permission. It only insists that life will move again.

My life shook once more, like an Etch-a-Sketch in someone else’s hands. But the screen is clear now, and this time I am holding it.

Nine months stretches ahead of me — not empty, not lost — just unwritten.

I am not starting from nothing.

I am starting from survival.

From love.

From stubborn faith.

From the knowledge that every time the picture vanished, I learned how to draw better.

The thaw came.

The ground opened.

Now I choose what grows.