Last night my Hearth celebrated the Cold Moon with a feast. We gathered in the kitchen, cooked falafel together, and shared good conversation. It was nice to gather again as we missed our last rite due to covid, and it really reinforced to me the necessity and benefit of these rites. (NB: Many people would call the Full Moon of January the Wolf Moon, but in our lunisolar reckoning, the first full moon of Winter is the Cold Moon.)
What it also reinforced to me is the need to compile one breviary for our hearth, instead of a strange compilation of Google Drive files that we may or may not forget to cross-reference, causing me to forget a part that we said we’d start including…
This year, the Full Cold Moon marked the end of the Winter Solstice season for us. All of our Christmas decorations were put away a couple of weeks ago, but the star and wren remained. The star and wren, perhaps the two most important symbols of our hearth, remained through the Winter Solstice to the Cold Moon, where we honoured Eithne again.
I have always been partial to a year-omen that is with us through the entire year, influencing our decisions as we keep it foremost in matters of the hearth as both a prediction and a focus. Year-omens, as given to us by Eithne and our women ancestors, have carried us through improving our finances, buying a home, and having a child.
This year, when the blackbird came before we drew our year omen, I could not ignore the news it brought. So the blackbird and then the omen drawn on Mothernight became my guideposts for the year. But last night at the Cold Moon, I knew that this year’s omen was triplicate, and that whatever would come in this rite would finish the trifecta, leading us through winter to spring. In addition to the animal card, we drew ogham; as the animals are for the entire hearth, the ogham are personal, either as illumination or something else entirely, the meaning in the eye of the beholder. And personal it is; like the blackbird, an invitation and a confirmation of things that are and things to come.
Tonight is a snow day, an extremely rare instance when my work is closed. This winter storm is forcing us to pause, rest, enjoy each other. I have an extra day with my son, to build and play and explore. A day to reflect on Eithne and stillness, and to feel the burning anticipation of Imbolc coming. (And perhaps, a day to fix this breviary mess.)
On Spotify while writing this post: