All plants take your mark! Get set! Go!

This would be the race for Spring. Our green friends are ready to soak up the warm sun rays that start to comb the earth's surface. The winter chill may not be completely gone, but it has subsided enough to allow the bravest and most daring plants to come forth to stake their claim. The birds are chirping. The streams are flowing faster. The Sun is in the sky longer than before. All of these are the sure signs that spring is on the horizon, and with each day that passes you can feel that change in the Sky, Earth, and Sea. From the heaps of brown dried foliage new life emerges. Ready and waiting for the change to occur because for long months they have been hibernating in their cocoon of a seed. Patiently waiting for the right temperature, the right moisture, the right moment that will set them on their way to begin the growing times again.

And in the lead is the clover. Fast as lighting it started and is a head of all its other root dependent friends.

Yes, the Shamrock clover. With its delicate little roots and three leaves it is able to cover vast amounts of land very quickly. It will not be able to compete with the dandy lions and shrub grass that will come later, but as for now the clover is in first place. This little plant is the trade mark of March. I remember in elementary school cutting out little Shamrocks and pasting them all over the walls. It is the month of Green. I could only Imagine the Emerald hills of Ireland covered with the foliage of the clover. This little plant has a special place in our hearts and in the Alban Eilir season. Legend is of course told about St. Patrick teaching the Trinity by using the Clover. Ths is an easy comparison but I would imagine that the lessons of the clover were present well before the age of Saint Patrick. A certain awe must have been established when coming out of a harsh winter and being greeted by these little three leaf clovers that were promising the end of the cold mouths and the birth of the warmth and prosperity of our land.

Pick a clover and make a wish
Kiss each leaf and let the wind take it out of sight
And with the coming of the balance of day and night
May the Shamrock's luck swim to you like a fish
Back from the waters of the returning tide
The stream of Spring is filling up
Open our soul to fill it like a cup
With the energy that winter tried to hide

I can think of no better feeling than that of the Spring. Even with my allergies my heart still sings. It is not even Spring that excites me so, it is that twilight of Spring when we are just on the verge of a change. That threshold of time. The period between one and the other. The time that is felt while standing on the line. I get the impression that we modern day druids celebrate the thresholds more than the seasons themselves. The thresholds are the marks of our life. They are the rings of our tree. They are proof of our growth. That is why Alban Eiler and all of the other Solar and Lunar festivals are so important to us. They mark the passage of "our" time. Time is a personal thing for us as well as sacred. We need holidays and event that celebrate that, but most of our culture has steered away from the real meaning of why we celebrate. It is not because of what one man did or what battle happen then or event happened when. The festivals are about us and our time. They are marked by nature more than by man. So let your nature come out and embrace the power that it holds. Change with the seasons and grow with the times that you have. So for this Alban Eilir, let's pick up a Shamrock clover and raise it to the Sun. Make a wish for peace for yourself, for your family, for your town, for your providence, and for your world. May the light fill the hearts that still find themselves in the dark. Rather it is Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost or Maiden, Mother, and Crone, let your prayers go out into the world to be sown in with the seeds of peace and happiness everywhere and may our Sacred Groves of peace bloom full this year.

Happy Alban Eilir.
Enjoy your Time,
Frederick Casey, Bard of the OBOD