Happy Equinox to all my readers!
The festival itself is called Ostera, from where we get our name 'Easter'.
We've just come back from a walk in the park - just trying to soak up some of the signs of mid-Spring. . . daffodils, buds bursting open on the trees and, of course, that harbinger of better weather, the fruits of the stupid-trouser fairy. . . cropped baggy pants on overweight youngsters trying to look 'hip'.
The Equinox is always a funny time. The half-way point, the turning point, neither one nor the other, but both in balance. The point of a sword.
There is not a sense of completion like there is for the Solstices where the Sun is 'fully ripe' or 'fully spent'.
There is a brief moment you can feel of poise and uncertainty. It's like taking a step on to a frozen lake. You catch your breath as you are completely focused on sensing if that first step into an "unknown but predestined future" will take your weight. A new world of possibilities beneath your feet. Will it hold. . .
Balance . . .
