It feels fitting somehow because Imbolc isn’t loud. It doesn’t burst in with the fall colors that Samhain brings or the cold of the Winter Solstice. It just shows up at the beginning of February.
Sometimes it sneaks right by me because I’m still wrapped up in thinking about winter, especially this year, when the snow and the ice have been so prevalent.
Traditionally, Imbolc marks the halfway point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox. It marks the beginning of that shift in light when the days start to get longer, it stays light later, and we get a taste of spring returning. In Irish history, it’s a celebration of Brigid, of hearth and flame, and of inspiration and renewal.
For me, Imbolc feels more like a subtle shift under the skin. The days are still cold—especially this year. The trees are still bare, nary a bud or green leaf in sight. It’s still dark in the mornings. But the sun does linger just a little longer in the afternoon, and sometimes the air feels lighter and fresher.
It’s kind of as if there’s a softness happening that wasn’t there in January.
This year, I didn’t plan anything specific for Imbolc because it really did pass me by amidst the anniversary of my father’s passing and the crazy, crazy weather in the southeast. I didn’t do any kind of an altar refresh and didn’t make any big declarations.
But when I realized that Imbolc was here, I started to notice small things. I cleared off my kitchen island, almost without thinking, and wiped it down slowly. When the weather wasn’t absolutely freezing, I opened the windows for just a few minutes to let fresh air slip inside. I learned there’s a German word for that that basically translates to “burping your house.” That’s what I did: I burped the house. And I lit a simple white candle and sat with a mug of tea in my sunroom, which is my favorite room in the house.
I opened my grimoire and thought about how to represent in bulk on those pages. I told myself, “The light is returning even if I can’t fully see it yet.”
I’ve heard Imbolc described as a festival of beginnings, but I’ve learned that not all beginnings are great, or dramatic, or something that I want to celebrate. Sometimes a beginning is something to just get through. Since my dad passed away in late January of last year, that’s a little bit what January was for me. Imbolc felt a bit more like a transition away from the sadness layered into the beginning of a new year.
I’ve given myself permission to get a little bit more rest, drink a lot of water, and give myself space to dream.
Even though February 1st has passed, the spirit of Imbolc is still here. We’re still in that in-between space before the Spring Equinox, and for a lot of us, that cold weather is lingering. If you feel called, here are a few simple ways to lean into the energy of this idea:
I like using a white or soft gold candle. For me, this represents the returning sun and your own quiet renewal.
Whether it’s a drawer, a desk, a corner of your altar, or just clearing a space, it invites in new possibilities.
I don’t believe in forcing something if you’re not feeling it. Don’t put that extra pressure on yourself.
Start small with something for me. I’m learning pottery, and it’s a little bit slow going right now because I broke my wrist about a week and a half ago, so I’m starting very gently.
Whatever you do, give it a small start.
Writing intentions doesn’t have to be a long, drawn-out thought-provoking activity. You can make a list or not. You can journal about it or not. You can write one word or a sentence. Make it something that feels like a seed for your upcoming spring.
I love to pay attention to how the days are shifting right now. The Wheel of the Year moves whether we track it or not, but the shifting light and longer days make it pretty easy to embrace the transition from winter to spring.
Imbolc always reminds me that we’re not always ready for growth or change. Sometimes those beginnings are underground or invisible, or they’re protected. I still feel like I’m in winter for several reasons. If you feel like you’re still in winter, too, that’s okay!
We just have to move with it in our own time. So even though Imbolc has passed on the calendar, I’m still sitting with it, listening and contemplating. I know this winter will pass and spring will come. It always does.
Here’s to quiet magic.
© 2026 Melissa Bourbon