On Friday night I had the privilege of gathering with Wise Women for our Aries New Moon Wisdom Circle, marking the first new moon of spring.
Together, we explored the current turn of the Spiral Dance and the influence of the cosmic weather. We journeyed to Moon Wisdom Lake, and in that quiet inner space, we planted the seeds of our intentions. Seeds for this lunation, for the months ahead, and maybe even for a longer unfolding we can’t yet fully see.
After the session I wrote out my new moon intentions in magic ink and then stepped immediately into motion, heading to the airport for a very quick trip to Ontario to visit family.
In hindsight it seems like spring met me on that journey and reflected my intentions back at me.
In the airport concourse, I was captivated by stunning photo of a heterochromatic lion. His gaze was both fierce and steady, one eye light, one eye dark. He reminded me of the heterochromatic coyote who came to me at the beginning of spring last year carrying a similar message: to keep one eye turned outward toward what is unfolding in the world, and one eye turned inward toward the fertile darkness of chaos and creation.
It felt like a quiet affirmation of the new moon itself. Even in the darkness, something is always being created.
As I boarded the plane in Edmonton, the sun was setting. When I stepped outside the airport in Toronto, it was rising.
An ending. A beginning.
Release. Renewal.
The same rhythm we had just moved through in circle.
On the bus ride from the airport to Collingwood, a rainbow stretched alongside us for most of the journey. It felt like a companion, a gentle thread weaving through the landscape, reminding me that when conditions are right, light and water create something entirely new.
In Ontario, the land was saturated with rain. Ditches were full, trails pooled with water, and clusters of wild daffodils appeared in soft bursts of yellow. The potential of spring was everywhere; not fully formed, but undeniably present.
In Collingwood, eagles circled high above, moving along invisible currents of air. The grackles in the backyard called me back to childhood springs, to flooded yards and the familiar sounds of seasonal return.
Each moment felt like a whisper:
The seeds have been planted.
Now watch as signs of their growth begin to show up, like seedlings emerging from the ground.
I missed the sunrise on the morning I left, but I was delighted to see another sunset at the airport. And when I arrived home, the sky opened into a beautiful display of the Northern Lights, dancing across the darkness.
Another reminder that creation does not happen all at once.
It begins in the darkness, unseen.
It gathers energy.
It reveals itself in signs, in shifts, in subtle invitations to notice.
Spring is not just a season.
It is a conversation, waiting for us to take part.
And if we are paying attention, we begin to see that the seeds we plant at the new moon are already in motion, already responding, already finding their way into form.
Each new moon offers another opportunity to return, to listen, and to plant new seeds. If you feel called to explore this practice in community, you are always welcome to join us in a Moon Wisdom Circle.
