This time at the turn of January and February is, in the depths of our traditions, one of the most powerful moments of the entire year. Even though the landscape is still bound by winter and night prevails over day, things have already begun to move in the invisible world beneath the surface. It is a season that different cultures have named in various ways – Imbolc, Disting, or Hromnice – yet at the heart of all these festivals beats one and the same longing: the hope for the return of light and the celebration of a life that refuses to give up.
For the ancient Celts, this was Imbolc, a time dedicated to the goddess Brigid. It was a festival of milk, purity, and the quiet awakening of the sheep—the first tangible proof that nature is preparing for the birth of a new cycle. Flames were fanned in hearths, and in them, people saw the spark that would soon ignite the whole of spring. It was a moment when the old was cleansed so that the new could arrive, and when silent prayers were offered for the blessing of future harvests.
The Northmen celebrated Disting at this time, a festival associated with the Disir—powerful female beings and ancestors who watched over the crops and the fate of lineages. These were days of great assemblies, when people met after the long isolation of winter, traded, and honored the strength of the earth, which would soon cast off its icy shell. Disting reminds us that we are not just lonely stalks in the frost, but part of a long line of ancestors who felt this same restlessness in their blood for thousands of years before us.
In our Slavic tradition, this period culminated in Hromnice. It is that magical moment when the god Perun, the Thunderer, strikes his anvil for the first time after winter, and the first bolt of lightning cuts through the sky to awaken the sleeping Mother Earth. The Hromničky candles lit in windows were not merely protection against storms, but a symbol of the inner light that must burn within us until the sun returns in full power.
Regardless of what you call this time, its essence remains the same. It is a turning point. It is the moment we realize that even the longest and darkest night has its end. It is a time when we sweep the dust from the corners of our homes and our souls, preparing for the wildness that spring will bring. We wish that this time awakens in you the same strength as that of the first sprout piercing the frozen soil. May the fire of these festivals guide you, and may the light within you never fade.
