I woke in the darkness yesterday morning. The skies were clear. The temperature was 3°F. And the full moon was westering with a large bite out of its eastern side.
I made hibiscus and ginger tea and took care of the cat’s needs. I have been burning cedar incense in the basement because I read somewhere that rodents don’t like the smell, and, indeed, my usual winter mouse problem has noticeably abated. This might be more related to the temperature than the incense, but I’m fine with believing in this bit of synchronicity. So I lit a cone as I was cleaning the cat box. Which, of course, inspired me to light scented candles in the rest of the house.
By this point the moon was a fat crescent. No longer a disk, but not yet a fingernail sliver. It was beginning to get light outside, but the moon was dimmer.
I found Hammock streaming a compilation of all their Blood Moon music — with a new track! — and played that through the stereo. While on the computer, I noted the weather, and found that the forecasted high was to be 37° with a low of 24°. It was also supposed to be snowing. They were a bit off on the particulars.
I took my tea upstairs to the guest bedroom where I could watch the moon as it turned red. I knew I would not be able to see totality. My town is nestled in a deep valley in the mountains, and we have no horizons, only hills. Eclipse totality, of course, straddled the moment of the moon’s peak fullness, which was at 6:37am my time. It was a very narrow window of eclipse time. Totality began at 6:22, with the moon barely above a flat horizon; moonset was at 6:25; and totality ended at 7:02am with the moon out of sight and the sun already cresting the eastern mountains.
But from the second floor of my hillside home, I was high enough to see the moon turn to a red sliver with horns turned to the sky. I watched as it sank behind the mountains to the southwest, knowing that my family out west could watch the whole disk turn dull red and become the blood moon, knew that they were in fact watching.
There is something profoundly connecting about watching an eclipse. Even when you are alone in your house, you know that millions of people all around the world are doing the same thing right at that exact same moment, feeling exactly the same mixture of reverence and humbled awe as they watch the unique dance of light and shadow between our shared star, our shared planet, and our shared satellite. I am so enamored of eclipse watching that I wanted to go to Spain this August to see the next full solar eclipse, but getting a new job makes vacation time problematic — as is traveling anywhere these days. Who knows what flags are on my passport. I might not be let back into the country. (And I’m not quite okay with that… only for family reasons…) I will wait for August of next year, when, once again, Spain will be a good place to watch the moon occlude the sun. (Peak totality passes right over the Straits of Gibraltar…)
I have a small full moon ritual, a sort of solitary Esbat. I usually do this when the moon is rising closest to full, not at the peak moment of fullness, which can happen at any time of the day — or night. But the setting eclipse seemed more appropriate this lunation. I usually prepare some sort of toast to the fullness of the moon, thanking the universe for the beauty, the light, and the mystery. The full moon is a brief moment of maturation, a between time, a not-this-yet-not-that time. It is not a time to begin things, nor ends things, not a time to do work. It is a pause, a time to observe and celebrate and be happy with the moment. So I celebrate. Usually, like yesterday morning, with tea, though sometimes cider, mead or wine are more appropriate.
Each lunation has its own energy, and that is peaking at the full moon. The full Hunger Moon is the zenith of Lent, the preparatory time before the new growing season and the new year. Truly the whole time of the Hunger Moon is a period of liminality, a trying, testing, tedious wait for when growth will actually begin. We have celebrated the enkindling of the spring with Imbolg, but spring is not yet opening out and will not until well after the equinox. So we are waiting, and we are hungry. The Hunger Moon is a time to focus on that hunger, on that slow thaw, on the growing days but not the growing green world. It is a preludial time before spring.
But today the Hunger Moon is already waning. The cold, the snow, the unwinding of winter, and the preparation to enter the season of growth, these were all at the fullness yesterday. But from that moment of climax onwards, they will be dwindling as we watch the Hunger Moon fade and know that the Sap Moon will follow in just two weeks. We have gloried in the beauty of winter, the stars in black skies, the argent blankets of fresh snowfall, the sparkling filigree of ice on the windows in the morning sun. These things are still with us and we should appreciate them. But their time is ending. The waning Hunger Moon is time to say goodbye, to let go of our winter resting time, to release our time of introspection and brooding, to let the Crone go to her summer dreaming — with all the muck and mud that brings.
For this is winter’s denouement. It is already fading into darkness, sinking deep into stone and soil. And we are letting go of winter’s long pause, our time of rest, the healing darkness and quiet. We are celebrating these gifts and letting them go back to the depths to await our need in the autumn. We are taking a deep breath and acknowledging the hunger under this melting snow. We are toasting that energy because it drives us to create, to do, to be active, to uncurl from our meditative nests and produce life for yet another year.
So in my full moon ritual, I express my gratitude for the waxing period and the lessons that time brought, for the fullness, for the ripeness of this time, and then I acknowledge that the waning has begun.
I usually prepare and speak a pledge in keeping with the lunation, something that expresses my gratitude by paying it forward. Saying it out loud helps me to follow through. This is the time of Lent, the time of shedding and purging, so naturally I resolved to finally get the bags of donation clothing off to the Salvation Army. Now that I can finally drive safely.
Because while the day started cold, it was above freezing by mid-afternoon. Today, the thaw is beginning in earnest, despite the fresh snow that fell overnight. We might reach the upper 40s (°F) today, for the first time in months. This is not warm enough to spur the eruption of spring, but it is enough to melt the snow — and to strengthen the freeze-thaw pumping in the maple trees so that we New Englanders can have sugar on snow. The Sap Moon is coming.
At the end of my magical ritual — which really takes just a few moments though it has taken paragraphs to describe — I go back to my mundane day. Usually, this happens at the rise of the full moon, so the day is ending. I go eat a light meal spend the rest of the evening quietly reading, usually with the curtains open so I can see the moon’s glowing face. There is often a bit of meditation in the moonlight because I do that at the end of every day — especially these days when I need to lower my blood pressure before trying to sleep. Yesterday was a bit different in that I was beginning the day. So I did my morning sun salutes and exercises to the rising sun, tidied up the bed, and got ready for the work day — which turned out to be a remarkably relaxing way to start the day. I felt buoyed by serenity all day long.
Despite all the dour headlines…
Maybe I should watch the full moon set more often. Or maybe… I’ll do both, moonrise and moonset — because you can’t have too much magic…
The Wednesday Word
for 4 March 2026
hunger
What does hunger mean to you? Think about it. If you’d like, send me a quick poem or story… or just a few thoughts. If you really have something to say, maybe enter my Wednesday Word contest on AllPoetry.
©Elizabeth Anker 2026
By My Solitary Hearth 