Circle round, and I’ll tell you a story…
Once there were two children, a sister and brother named Brigit and
Alex, who lived in a land where winter brought deep snows and much cold.
The children loved to play in the snow, to make huge snowmen, and dig
tunnels in the high banks and have snowball fights. But every year they
waited eagerly for Brigit’s holiday to come around, for they knew it
meant that the days would be getting longer and that someday spring
would come again.
One year, winter was especially harsh. Day after day, clouds filled the
sky and the snow piled up on the streets. Night after night, a cold wind
howled around the corners of the houses and blew smoke back down the
chimneys.
Brigit and Alex grew very tired of staying in the house, for on many
days the air was too cold to play outside for very long, even when they
wore their warmest jackets with wool sweaters underneath and snowpants
over their jeans and an extra pair of wool socks in their boots and all
the hoods and scarves and mufflers they could put on. When they did go
outside, they were so bundled up they could only waddle like penguins,
and they were very tired of making snowmen and snow forts.
“How long will winter last?” they asked their mother.
“Only the Goddess knows,” their mother said.
“Where can we find her to ask her?” Brigit asked.
Their mother smiled. “Light a candle on Brigit Eve, look into the flame
with an open heart, and wait. Who knows, maybe she’ll come to you. After
all, you are named for her!”
So on Brigit Eve the two children lit a candle with their mother’s help,
placed it on the table, and looked deep into the flame. After a while,
the flame seemed to grow and grow until it filled the whole room with a
glorious light, and a beautiful woman appeared. Her hair was bright as
living fire, her face dark as old wood, her cloak golden as a sunbeam.
“I am Brigit of the Holy Well and Sacred Flame,” She said, “Why have you
called me, my children?”
“Oh, Brigit, I am named after you,” said the little girl, “We called you
to ask a question.”
“How long will winter last?” Alex asked.
“Winter will last until clean water rises in the sacred well and bright
flame burns on every hearth,” the Goddess said, and then she
disappeared.
“What does she mean?” the two children asked. They went to their mother,
but she could not say. They asked their father, but he only winked and
said, “That’s the trouble with the Goddess – it’s hard to get a straight
answer from her.” So they went to bed unsatisfied.
The next morning, they woke up early and decided that they would go from
house to house in their village and see whether or not a good, warm fire
was burning on every hearth. And they would ask everyone if they knew of
a sacred well.
So they did. They bundled up in their warmest jackets with wool sweaters
underneath and snowpants over their jeans and an extra pair of wool
socks in their boots and all the hoods and scarves and mufflers they
could put on, and went outside, waddling like penguins. From house to
house they went, all through their village. On every hearth, a warm fire
burned, and while people were kind to them and offered them good things
to eat and warm things to drink, nobody knew about any sacred well.
At last they had visited every house in the village. The only one left
was the cottage of Old Man Maddog, which lay across the frozen fields on
the very edge of the forest. Nobody liked Old Man Maddog. He was crusty
and mean and didn’t appear to bathe very often. And he was a stranger
who had come from far away. When children came near his cottage, he
yelled at them and shook his big walking stick. And when all the other
people in the village were working hard, Old Man Maddog simply sat on
his porch, rocking in his old chair and smoking his pipe.
“Stay away from him,” parents told their children. “He’s a foreigner.
He’s lazy and dirty and probably dangerous.” And the children stayed
away.
But now, from the very edge of the village, Brigit and Alex could just
see the roof of Old Man Maddog’s house. There was no smoke coming out of
his chimney.
“Surely the Goddess couldn’t have meant that we were supposed to light a
fire on his hearth,” Alex said, “I’m afraid of him.”
“He’ll probably yell at us and shake his stick,” Brigit agreed. “But
still, I think we should go see if he has a fire.”
So they did, wading through the deep snow that covered the fields so
thickly they seemed to be walking in a tunnel as high as their heads. At
last they came to Old Man Maddog’s house. The door was closed, and there
was no smoke coming out of the chimney.
“Maybe he’s not home,” Brigit said. “Maybe we should just go away.”
“Let’s look in the window first,” Alex suggested. They peered in the
small glass window and saw Old Man Maddog lying on his bed. There was no
fire on his hearth.
“Maybe he’s sick,” Brigit said, “We’d better go in and see.”
The door was not locked, so they entered the room. It was cold as the
cold air outside, and dirtier than any room Brigit had ever seen. Old
Man Maddog lay on his bed, moaning and shivering with fever.
“We’ve got to help him,” Brigit said. She brought him a drink of water,
while Alex took an old blanket and shook it outside and then covered the
old man. They ran out into the forest and gathered fallen wood until
they had a big pile. Then they lit a fire on the hearth, and soon the
entire room began to grow warm. They found some potatoes and carrots and
onions in a bag and cooked up a nice, hot soup. While it was simmering,
they cleaned the house and swept the floor and washed the dishes.
Finally, Old Man Maddog was warm enough to sit up and drink some soup.
“Pesky children,” he said in a gruff voice, “I never did like children.
Still, I suppose I ought to thank you.”
“That would be polite,” Brigit told him.
“But what we really want to know is whether you’ve heard of any holy
well around here,” Alex said.
“Holy well, jingle bell,” Old Man Maddog said, “I don’t hold with your
holy wells. The only well I know of is that old fallen-in well in the
woods, and it’s all full of garbage.”
Brigit and Alex looked at each other. Garbage! That didn’t sound very
holy. But still, it was the only well anyone had told them about all
day.
“I guess we’d better go look for it,” Alex said. “We’ll bring in some
more wood before we go, and when we get home, we’ll send our mother and
father to take care of you.”
“Don’t do me any favors,” said Old Man Maddog, but they both felt he
didn’t really mean it.”
Once again they bundled up in their warmest jackets with wool sweaters
underneath and snowpants over their jeans and an extra pair of wool
socks in their boots and all the hoods and scarves and mufflers they
could put on, and went outside, waddling like penguins. They went deep
into the forest, following the opening between the trees.
At last they came to a small clearing. In the center was a ring of
stones, all tumbled down and scattered. They looked inside and saw
nothing but a small puddle of frozen mud, all choked with stones and
leaves and garbage.
“Could that be the holy well?” Brigit asked.
“It doesn’t look much like it,” Alex said, “but maybe if we clear it out
a bit, we’ll be able to see some water.”
They began prying up the stones and pulling out big lumps of things,
which turned out to be cans and bottles and old, rotting papers. Brigit
took a big stick to clear away the fallen leaves. Alex took off his
mittens and scooped out the mud. And soon clear water began to rise
through the mud.
“We can’t do much more,” Alex said. “It’s starting to get dark. We’ll
have to come back tomorrow, and bring a shovel.”
“But at least we’ve begun,” Brigit said.
“You’ve done well,” a voice said from behind them. They turned and saw
the beautiful woman and hair bright as flame and a face as dark as old
wood. “You’ve begun the work – and that is all that anyone can do.”
“Is this your holy well?” Brigit asked the Goddess
“Yes, it is. A long time ago, the people of the village tended my well
carefully, keeping it clean and dressing it with flowers in the spring.
But now they have forgotten the way here, just as they have forgotten
the law of kindness to strangers. Without the warmth of loving kindness,
how can the days grow warm again? And when my clear springs are choked
with dirt, how can the rains of spring fall?”
“We’ll remind them,” Brigit promised. “We’ll bring everyone out here to
finish cleaning up the well.”
“And we’ll make sure to keep a warm fire burning on Old Man Maddog’s
hearth,” Alex added, “Even if he isn’t a very nice man.”
The Goddess smiled. “Good. You have lit my fire and cleaned my well. And
now I will tell you a secret. Inside the heart of every girl and boy is
a holy well, full of the waters of love and joy and new ideas. This is
the well you must keep clean, because it can easily be choked by hatred
and greed and selfishness. And inside of you is also a fire you must
tend and feed and keep burning, so that you grow to be strong and wise
and brave. Will you do that?”
“We’ll do our best,” they promised.
“And now will spring come?” Brigit asked.
“Spring will come,” the Goddess promised, and she winked at them.
“Spring will come – as soon as winter is over.”
And it did.
