The Cailleach and the Bride:
A Candlemas Taleby Joanna Powell Colbert
The Cailleach came to us at Samhain. She came on the Eve of Spirits, and brought with her a bitter wind that has ravaged the land. A harsh winter she brought to us this year; the rivers spilled out of their courses, roadways became waterways. A frozen wind from the north came that bit us with savage teeth if we ventured outside our homes. The silent snow came, and did not leave, burying us as it piled high outside our doors. The ice that brought a frozen beauty to our forest was deadly; the tree limbs cracked and fell, blocking our pathways and stealing our supplies of heat.
The Cailleach's blood grows thin; her bones are frail and brittle. She coughs and spits up blood as she pulls her cloak about her bony shoulders. She has called her animals to herself. The bear sleeps; the stag and doe have grown their shaggy coats; the snake lies deep in buried caves. The Cailleach curls up beside them there, huddling for warmth in the bowels of the earth. "My time to sleep," she murmurs to herself. "This season has drained me of all my life's blood. . . let me rest, let me sleep, let me dream . . ."
And such a dream she dreams. Under the silent snows, the Old Woman dreams of Summerland, of warm breezes and sunlight on bare skin, of laughing children and fruits and flowers. She stirs in her sleep and smiles. Above her head, seeds begin to stir. Snowdrops and crocuses begin to push small green shoots above the frozen earth.
And in her dreams, she remembers that some have said that she is a wicked old woman who keeps the Maid of Spring chained away in her Fortress of Ice. And some have said that the Maiden waits to be rescued by Angus the Ever Young, the very son of the Cailleach herself. But the Cailleach knows, even as She sleeps, that the Maiden is but another face that She herself sometimes wears.
And so she dreams. Until one night, ó tonight, of course, the Eve of Bride ó she wakens, and pushes her way up out of her cave. She laughs to find herself in Tir-Nan-Og, the Isle of Youth, and delights in the fragrant evening air. The sky is clear, the stars are bright. The Cailleach sits in silence for awhile, gazing at the deep waters of the Well of Youth. Visions and images come to her of wheels within wheels, spirals within spirals, circles spinning ever on. At the first faint glimmering of dawn, before any bird has sung or any dog has barked, she drinks of the water that bubbles in the crevice of the rock. Cold and clear, she bathes her face in it and gently washes her hands. And as she splashes the water on her body, she sees the veins and wrinkles in her hands become smooth, smooth as the cheeks of a young girl. She jumps up and twirls around, her body a maiden's once again. She dances for joy, and as she dances, the earth comes alive beneath her feet. Daffodils and shamrocks spring up in her footprints, baby birds begin to chirp, and milk begins to flow from the udders of ewes.
"Bride has come!" the word is passed from seedling to shoot, bloom to blossom. The farmer wakens and begins his chores, his daughter laughs to see the newborn lambs. "Bride has come! Bride has brought the spring!"
Copyright 1991 Joanna Powell Colbert.
Used with permission
Home
Back
Link