It’s the shortest day, the longest night. There’s a Waxing Crescent moon. Its Yalda, Saturnalia, Karachun, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa and Yule. The pagans will be dancing naked around rocks in a field, while drummers beat time to their earthy shouts. The less brave of us will attach fairy lights around the windows in the kitchen and the branches of a little tree. We’ll open wine, light candles and a fire.
The bracing cold of last week has subsided and there is little chance of snow; after the rush and bluster of December everything is suddenly quiet.
I prefer winter, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape – the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show ~ Andrew Wyeth
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And hear the sun wakes us at 5am, greeted by the sound of juvenile Tui honking as they find their song. Before the cars and the airplanes, here too is near silence. Here though we are merely breathing in before the party and expansion of being that is midsummer in New Zealand.
sas Replied:
oh love I can almost hear the tui’s x