Winter Solstice

I have news for you:
The stag bells, winter snows, summer has gone
Wind high and cold, the sun low, short its course
The sea running high.
Deep red the bracken; its shape is lost;
The wild goose has raised its accustomed cry,
cold has seized the birds' wings;
season of ice, this is my news.
9th century Irish

But that was then. We’ve turned the corner. Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year and the darkest, has come and passed.
Most of us didn’t notice. We were at the mall. Wrapping presents. Baking cookies. Cleaning house. Welcoming family. December 21st was a busy day.

So let’s take a few moments now to join a celebration that has existed, in one form or another, for thousands of years. At its heart is a farewell to darkness, the rebirth of the sun, and a whisper of the spring to come. At this time, we cast off regrets and set new goals for ourselves. All things are possible.



Winter Solstice Celebration
Glastonbury Tor
England






So the shortest day came, and the year died,
And everywhere down the centuries of the snow-white world
Came people singing, dancing,
To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees;
They hung their homes with evergreen;
They burned beseeching fires all night long
To keep the year alive,
And when the new year's sunshine blazed awake
They shouted, reveling.
Through all the frosty ages you can hear them
Echoing behind us - Listen!!
All the long echoes sing the same delight,
This shortest day,
As promise wakens in the sleeping land:
They carol, fest, give thanks,
And dearly love their friends,
And hope for peace.
And so do we, here, now,
This year and every year.
Welcome Yule!!
Susan Cooper

Over the centuries, rituals of various ages and cultures have melted into one another. Druids gathered holly, ivy, and mistletoe for their rites. Yule celebrants brought trees into their homes so the wood sprites would have a place to keep warm. The Yule log did its part. Here is a version of a traditional Yule Fire Spell.

Grind three dried leaves of holly into powder. Write on a four-inch square of paper, in red ink or blood, one word that represents the quality you want to be born in you when the Goddess gives birth to the new sun. Sprinkle the holly powder in the center of the paper, twist it closed, and with fire from a red candle, burn the paper and powder. As it is consumed, visualize your wish fulfilled. And turn your heart to hope.

When despair grows in me
and I wake in the middle of the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
The Peace of Wild Things Wendell Berry

Some treasures from the past year are gone forever from us. We mourn them and remember.


As the summer faded, we lost Irish singer and poet Tommy Makem, but his music and words live on . . .

Winter, a sharp bitter day
the robin turns plump against the cold
the sun is weak
silver faded from gold
he is late in his coming and short in his stay
Man, beast, bird and air all purging, all cleansing, earth already purified awaits the rite of spring
Her bridal gown a virgin snow and frosts in her hair
A snowdrop by the road today bowed gracefully and high upon the wing up in the sparkling nothingness, a lone bird
began to sing
Can gentle spring be far away?