The Longest Night…

image

I am a child of Winter.

Literally.

I was the second child in my family born on December 25.

My mother had years of traditions that placed Santa Claus on Christmas Eve and two birthday cakes with separate birthday presents on Christmas morning.

Yet, what I honor and love is the longest night of the year, the Blessed Winter Solstice

My time was spent at a grandmothers home tucked into a tiny town in the Wisconsin countryside

Resting on the shores of a beloved lake, usually semi frozen

Water in any form is my element.

We were far from artificial light that dims the night sky and stars from view. I could see them all on a clear night.

Cold with sometimes fallen snow, I simply was bundled to stay outside on this treasured night.

If cloudy, my love and awe were not dampened.

I have cherished this dark all of my life.

Others will celebrate a birth tonight,

I start that tomorrow, revering both Mother and child.

This is my tradition.

I claim it as only my own.

I light no candles.

No fires are burned.

Know this night on its own terms. It needs no illumination. That time will come soon enough.

If I must , I speak only in whispers.

Better to hear the silence.

No rush, no hurry, just being enveloped by that which is wrongly declared hostile.

This is my home.

Give me a north wind with many long winter nights.

I will relish them until I no longer exist.

For in this night, in this darkness, a hibernation of the senses,

I meet my soul from a time I have yet to know.

She is old, wearing life on her face,

always fierce, sometimes stark,

I love her deeply.

She can be found here, on this, the longest night.

Blessings to all
Bridget Robertson