Imbolc

I live in the city. The journey through the seasons isn’t always obvious here - not unless you know where to look. It’s in the cracks between paving stones, in the way bare branches catch the light, in the quiet persistence of green things growing against all odds - gardens and pockets of resistance. But this year, the darkness has felt profound. I have felt it settle into my bones, pressing down in a way I don’t remember from other winters. Perhaps it's my age.