Ancient hag of winter whose staff stills the green, shapes mountains, and teaches the necessary art of endings.
The Cailleach is winter’s person and the land’s shaper. She freezes the grass with her staff, pours stones from her apron to raise mountains, and rules the storm’s hard mercy. In Irish and Scottish lore she cycles with Brigid: one half of the year old and cold, the other young and bright. Yet the Cailleach is not cruelty; she is the discipline that makes spring meaningful. Without dormancy, no seed takes.
Devotion to the Cailleach is work: closing the garden, repairing roofs, preparing food for lean months. Her wisdom is boundaries, endings, and honest inventories. She keeps us from spiritualizing neglect. To honor her is to honor the rest that remakes strength, the dark necessary to see the stars.