Sunday afternoon, and we have gathered between the churchyard of St Andrew’s and the River Wye to mark time. We are here to celebrate St Brigid’s Day and Imbolc (the first day of Gaelic spring) with meditation and a hedgerow communion. In the sun we walk in silence to the old fish ponds and the ancient settlement.
I have walked this way many times, past the chestnuts and out into the opening backed by oak trees leaning down to the river. Out of the silence, I hear the “tseep-tseep” of a redwing amid the “chack-chack” of fieldfares. I glimpse its quizzical eye and cream eyebrow; the mottled, lynx-like feathers and the red flash.
The redwing reminds me of last year, when we took red ribbons – called brat bríde –…
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Guardian Weekly (Digital) - 1 Issue, 21 February 2025