Ag borradh, a Gaelic phrase, refers to quivering life about to break forth. This is no where more readily apparent than in springtime, when the earth begins to thaw, the trees begin to bud, and animal life begins to stir.
It has been a long winter here in New England, made longer still by belated March snows. Somehow the winter cold, coupled with the soaring price of home heating oil, seemed colder still this year.
But today I was up early, out with the puppy. Pink clouds filled both the eastern and western sky at first light. We passed more than a few male cardinals on our walk, each one piping a short phrase to announce his personal claim to a particular treetop territory. Overhead, strings of Canada geese cried honks of encouragement to their comrades in flight. The puppy looked up in momentary wonder; then circled the tufts of brown grass at my feet, her nose against the ground, searching for scents of spring.
Quickening—when life first stirs in the womb, announcing its soul presence. Ag borradh—as in the womb, so in and on the earth in spring.