Worm Moon

The Worm Moon, the full moon of March, marks the earth’s thaw and the return of wriggling worms that draw hungry robins from their winter hiding places. In Norse sagas, March’s orb was called the “Wyrm’s Eye,” and Viking shieldmaidens would carve runic protections on their longships under its light to guard against sea serpents. Ancient Egyptians dedicated this moon to Geb, god of the earth, scattering barley grains in temple courtyards so that the reborn worms would renew the fertile soil for the coming planting season. Native American tribes—particularly the Algonquin and Ojibwe—named it the Worm Moon to signal the start of spring hunting, joining drumming circles beneath its glow to honor renewal. Across the British Isles, Celtic druids harvested eelgrass by Worm Moon night, believing its green blades absorbed lunar magic to heal wounds and ward off winter’s chill.

Folklore around the Worm Moon isn’t all somber ritual—legendary mischief abounds. In rural Germany, tales told of “moonworms,” tiny luminescent creatures said to dance across thawing fields, whose tracks left glowing patterns until dawn. Japanese fishermen of old whispered that under the Worm Moon, koi would leap from ponds tricked by its reflection, as if the moon itself called out to them in watery tongues. Even the Vikings had a humorous side: winter-weary warriors joked that this moon was their cue to slip on thaw-melted turf and sing drunken shanties praising the worms’ triumphant return. Today, gardeners still plant early seeds by the Worm Moon’s light, combining ancient myth with modern eco-consciousness as they celebrate the first promise of spring.