There’s a time of the year when the darker days are set to give way to light. When life itself returns and the first shoots of spring are seen. This isn’t Valentine’s Day.

To me this is Imbolc, which sits ten days earlier. The awakening of the god of the sun, the goat, in all of his mirth. The first gags of the year as the Goddess awakens, pregnant with the joy of a harvest yet to come.

There aren’t any tokens, no cards, no balloons haplessly waiting in boxes. This time of year is a promise the cold has ended and all that lays ahead is growth, warmth, and fruits to come.

In life, winter can last more than a season. It can also be a period in which there is little more than withered bleakness. But winter will always pass.

This year I have but one promise, and that is of the year yet to unfold and its harvest of the sweetest fruit. 

And I, well, all through the longest winter I waited. And here I am. A goat to a Goddess, to whom I belong.

Not for a day, but forever. In this life and the next. We’re older than love. Always have been.

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