On the Spring Equinox, I found myself standing in the gardens of Chalice Well in Glastonbury—one of the most sacred places in Avalon.
With my oldest daughter by my side, time seemed to slow down… or maybe it disappeared altogether. It expanded, transformed—becoming something soft and spacious, something ancient.

In that liminal space between winter and spring, we stood together before the statue of the Mother and Child.

We embraced.

And not just in passing—but fully, deeply. It was a moment that reached beyond the photo I later took. A moment of reunion after a long season of separation. A moment that held within it the weight and wonder of everything unspoken, everything endured, everything healing.

A moment of stillness.
A return to something ancient and tender.

There, in the hush of blooming earth, ancient stone, and deep waters, I felt the sacred thread stir.

The thread that connects us all.

To be held. To hold.
To mother. To be mothered.
To remember that the Great Mother lives within us, around us, and far beyond us.

It was a quiet knowing—one that lives in the body more than the mind. One that reawakens in the presence of beauty, lineage, and love.

This spring, I’m honoring that thread.

Not just as a poetic idea, but as a living practice:
– In the way I tend to myself and my loved ones.
– In the way I listen deeply to what wants to grow.
– In how I mother my work, my creativity, my inner world.

Whether or not we have children of our own, we are all part of this great lineage of life-givers, space-holders, nurturers, and visionaries.

And so, with the blossoms opening and the earth warming beneath our feet, I offer this moment as a blessing:

May we each feel the embrace of the Great Mother.
May we soften into the tenderness of being held.
May we honor the sacred thread that connects us to each other—

and to something much older, much wiser, much more loving than we can fully name.