The Magic of April - Spring Tidal Magic

Spring sunrise over Salem Harbour

The trees are getting fluffy (yes, fluffy) - new twigs and buds are sprouting each day; small buds are forming on the lilacs and forsythia; late winter crocus and snowdrops have given way to the bright yellows of daffodils blooming. Peonies have sprouted, lilies are springing their leaves forth, and the hauntingly beautiful cry of the Mourning Dove can be heard through the chatter of songbirds and screeching of jays. All of these are the signs of the earth's spring tides, but for me - and most sea and water witches - it's the magic of the strands and tidelines that lets us know spring has truly sprung.

It's usually around this time of year that I start to feel something shifting beneath my feet when I walk the beaches - the sandy beaches, the rocky beaches, and the mud and cobble of my own sacred space, nestled in the shade of a coastal wood on Salem Harbour. By the winter solstice, a hush has fallen across these liminal spaces where land and sea meet. Waters and tidelines teeming with life over summer grow silent, if you know what you're listening for, by Yuletide. Most of the life in our North Atlantic seasonal seas has left for better feeding grounds, warmer waters, or to their southern breeding grounds. All that remain are the hardiest of animals - urchins, sea stars, molluscs of all kinds burrowed deep in the sand and mud, and cold water fish and crustaceans. Despite the fact that these animals remain year-round, over winter they too grow silent, and if you do know what you're listening for, you'll understand what that means.

But around the end of March through mid-April, even though the winds are still icy and the rains create mud, muck, and mire, walking the strand at the tidelines sounds...different. The water seems to be waking up and talking a little more. The sense of slumber that marks these liminal spaces throughout the winter has given way to a sense of stirring, of waking, of rising with the spring tide. You can hear the life returning, not with your ears but with your being. There is anticipation in the air and if you sift through the flotsam where the ocean meets the shore, you will already start to find evidence of a great spawning - hundreds (or more) of the tiniest shells, many no larger than grains of sand.

It's not just the ocean either. For landlocked water witches, streams begin to flow with spring rains and melting snow, ponds start to come to life and sing, lakes and rivers too seem to stir and sometimes burst to welcome the spring tides.

If you haven't yet experienced this beautiful and sacred phenomena, get to your body of water. Walk it, looking down, and let your eyes attune to the micro world beneath your feet. Listen to the trickle of the water, the lapping of the water at the shore, the rushing of streams or rivers, the crashing of waves, and then open your inner eyes and ears, and look and listen again.

It takes time and practice to be able to fine tune your senses this way, but when you do, you'll experience the world differently, more completely, and deepen your connection to your own sacred waters even further. So tell me, do you know what you're listening for in these rising tides of spring? If not, try it and let me know in the comments how it went for you!