In central Vermont, the Wolf Moon is full at 5:09pm on Imbolg. For some of you, the moon will be full on Candlemas, but the moonrise on the 1st will still be closest to full. It’s been a while since the last time the moon was full on Imbolg. The moon should be full on a certain date about once every nineteen years, but somehow the moon misses February 1st fairly often. An Imbolg full moon last happened in 1980, and before that in 1942. I’m sure this is related to leap year, but I can’t do that math right now. And anyway, I like that it’s mysterious. Even our nice, neat calendar has a little wobbly unpredictability built into it.
In my part of the world, the moon will rise above a flat horizon about ten minutes before sunset and about twenty minutes before it reaches peak fullness. So, if we can see it through all these clouds, it will be rising over the mountains right as it becomes full. I can’t remember the last time I saw a moon rising right at the moment of fullness. Unfortunately, with these clouds, most of the eastern US will probably not see this tonight either.
However, I’ll still know it’s happening. I’ll probably face the east to hail the Wolf Moon, whether or not I can see her shining. And because this moment will also be sunset on Imbolg, I might light a candle. I will probably not nestle that candle into the snow, as I usually like to do. It’s been below zero most of time, only reaching positive numbers in the middle of the day. So I’ll have to make do indoors. Which is fine. I prefer to be outside for most of my little calendrical rites, but the winter rituals work just as well inside.
Not that I go big on ritual. Facing east and hailing the rising full moon is exactly that, a pause to observe something beautiful. A momentary reminder that the world is full of these beautiful moments, and all we need do to enjoy them is to be aware. Take that moment out of the daily rush and give it your full attention. Be fully present. For just a moment.
That momentary attention makes all the difference in the world…
Soothsayers
It began with attention, a habitual awareness of the world. My grandmothers noticed, generally, they consciously observed, they saw and heard and felt the world as it unfolded around them. They found patterns that led to logical deduction. They understood causes and effects. But they also knew enough of the world to recognize the limits of their understanding. They knew of outliers and originals, things outside all pattern or predicate. And they determined to be as prepared as they might be for what had never been.
Foresight is nothing more than the ability to draw conclusions from the past. It is assimilation of experience and history into an expected order and the sensibility to know when the order does not apply. My ancestors had foresight. To their past-blind peers, my grandmothers seemed magical, uncanny, witches, and for their knowledge they were ostracized and persecuted. It is hard to understand in these latter days, but prediction based upon observation was deemed suspicious and unsavory, criminal even. In those days, it was necessary to cloak the lived experience in baseless ideologies and beliefs. Privileged interpretations and even outright untruths were the common store of knowledge. Attention was discouraged, if not punished.
So my grandmothers might have been punished for their sight, but that very sight usually allowed them to slip away from their oppressors, to live in the edge-spaces, to travel the hedges. Not that hiding from the blind is terribly difficult. The self-absorbed and self-satisfied can be mocked to their very own faces. But it did take a bit of ingenuity to build a durable life in the midst of the crumbling fantasy. And their ability to transcend, to see beyond its confines and strictures, is why I can tell you stories today. We would not be without their agile vision.
They named the likeliest effects of present causes and planned accordingly, building a shadow culture that had more structure and basis than the dominant customs. Their shadows were real, shadows only in obscurity, not in solidity. Their sight was true, magical only relative to those who could not perceive the world. Their lives were grounded, and so the culture they built was durable even in the face of disaster. By design, of course.
And all this magic was the result of nothing more than seeing the world as it is rather than as it would be in the minds of the few. They did not believe in those airy minds. They knew the world of form and existence and being as it danced around them. They participated in that dance, let it enfold them into the steps and patterns. No, it was not magic, nor was it particularly unusual. They knew that the world lived and followed its own music, and so they learned how to sing. In harmony. This is customarily known amongst most living beings. Most…
At times they found the need to explain their sight to those who needed vision but did not trust their own senses, never mind those of a witch. My grandmothers spread cards and pointed to the stars. They engaged in theatre to mask the plain fact that they just paid closer attention than most people. Most people needed to feel that these were special skills and no deficiency on their own part. So my grandmothers obliged with chicanery and obfuscation. I am sure this did not endear them to the authorities. But it did give them a voice. And occasionally that voice was heeded. Though sometimes the speaker was burned — for the theatrics as much as what was said.
But look around you now. What do you see? Firm foundations and sound connections. These are the work of the people who paid attention, who saw the solid ground and the woven web of the world. These are the fruits of their foresight, which is naught but awareness, though perhaps awareness tempered by a reluctance to name themselves exceptional or exemplary. There was so much special in their day, so much privilege and entitlement. It is hard to see through such things, hard to know place when you don’t want to understand that your feet are touching the ground, hard to plan on the future that does not include your own esteemed self. But such was the talent of my ancestors. Of yours as well.
The world winnows out the sightless and their unfounded beliefs. Reality is the measure and the rod. Those who ricochet blindly from one delusion to the next will crash up against the truth of the matter eventually. It has always been so. So better to be aware of the truth and able to understand it, predict its outlines even. Better because those who are so intimate with the past will survive the future. Better because you and I are possible for their apparent prescience. The deluded do not leave a legacy. They are as formless and traceless as the ideas they espouse and so can create nothing of substance.
So, I say, praise be to the practical solidity of my grandmothers. They lived and endured, and their endurance led to all of what I know.
And it all began with attention… the ability and the desire to sense and experience the world as it is.
— written on the 14th day of the Wolf Moon in the year 2500
©Elizabeth Anker 2026
By My Solitary Hearth 