Living Law Part II

Seasonal Law & the Wheel of the Skin

Part of the “Living Law” series, exploring ritual, skin, and the memory of land.
Originally written for The Brehon Academy.

I have come to believe that skin keeps its own calendar.

It tightens in cold winds.
Flushes in summer heat.
Softens with rain.
Burns beneath sun.

If we listen closely, skin tells us not just how we are ageing, but how we are living, in or out of rhythm with the land around us.

The ancients understood this instinctively. Law, medicine, ritual, and agriculture once followed the same turning wheel. To live well was to live seasonally.
To ignore the cycle was to invite imbalance, not as punishment, but a consequence.

Time as Circle, Not Line

The Irish year does not move forward; it turns.

Samhain. Imbolc. Bealtaine. Lughnasadh.
Fire festivals marked thresholds where communities renewed their agreements with land, livestock, and each other.

Here on Wadawurrung Country, time also turns, though not in fours.
Six, sometimes seven seasons announce themselves through wattle bloom, bird migration, shifting winds, and soil temperature.

Seasonal law is not about dates.
It is about attention.

To live seasonally is to recognise that time is covenant, not commodity.

The Wheel of the Skin

What if skincare followed the same law?

Not a marketing calendar of launches and trends, but a wheel of care that turned with land and weather.

This is how the wheel reads where I live, on the southern edge of the continent:

Late Winter, Wattle Season

The skin thins. Barriers weaken.
This is not the time for stripping.

Richer creams.
Fewer actives.
More rest.

Emu apple and quandong become allies here, plants shaped by wind, salt, and scarcity.

Spring, Flowering Season

Congestion rises as warmth returns.
The body exhales.

Gentle clays.
Herbal cleansing.
Light exfoliation only when invited.

Summer, Dry Season

UV, dehydration, inflammation
Hydration becomes law.

Mists are not indulgence; they are protection.
Kakadu plum, desert lime, and water-rich botanicals work quietly to defend the skin’s sovereignty.

Autumn, Seed Season

Repair begins.

Fine lines surface as the air dries.
Oils return.
Vitamins restore.

Autumn is the law of return before the dark.

You may live in a different landscape.
Your seasons will speak differently.

The work is the same: listen.

Law and Consequence

Under Brehon law, a farmer who sowed against season risked more than crop failure; they risked honour.

Modern beauty culture encourages year-round exfoliation, constant correction, and endless “improvement.” But skin is cyclical.
When we act out of season, the skin responds accordingly: irritation, inflammation, fatigue.

To live druidically now is not to abandon modern tools; it is to use them in time.

A Seasonal Ritual

Try this:

• Step outside. What is the land doing?
• Choose one element your skin is craving: earth, water, fire, or air.
• Before applying anything, acknowledge the season aloud or silently.
• Apply slowly. Let the heat rise. Let the breath settle.

This is not skincare.
It is treaty-making.

Commerce by the Wheel

I try to let seasonal law guide not only how I care for skin, but how I run Nala Native.

If bush plums suffer drought, I make smaller batches or pause entirely.
If wattles flower early, I adjust formulations sooner.

Scarcity is not failure.
It is an instruction.

The Brehon concept of lóg n-enech, the price of honour, governs my decisions. Honour means refusing palm oil despite margins. It means compostable labels.
It means allowing land to set the pace.

The Body as Seasonal Land

In early Irish law, the body was sovereign territory. Skin carried legal weight.

If we treated our skin as land rather than canvas, everything would change.
We would stop waging war on it.
We would stop demanding constant productivity.
We would learn to negotiate rather than to conquer.

Each blemish becomes dialogue.
Each dryness is a signal.
Each glow, a moment of alignment.

Closing the Circle

Seasonal law is not something to relearn; it is something to remember.

Stand before the mirror tomorrow and ask not “What do I need to fix?”
Ask instead:

What season am I in?
What does this land, this body, need now?

Skin will answer honestly.

Nala means earth.
And this is where we begin, again and again.

Aimee Louise Ní hÍceadha
Contemporary Druidess & Skin–Land Steward
Founder, Nala Native