Tonight is Longest Night, the holiest of holy days in my personal mythos. A winter night. Twilight. A dark night of the soul.
I will observe it in the dim living room in the light of the Christmas tree. With prayer. With the story of Beowulf as my companion this evening.
I will weather this night. Without tradition. Without direction. Without ritual or rite. A pilgrim. A wanderer. A bearer. Carrying the gift of a small spark across the threshold of seasons. Solstice.
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