Here in the North, the longest night has just passed.
Here in the North, the gardens are empty, the leaves fallen.
Here in the North, the blackness of night and the whiteness
of snow are the chief colours.
We welcome the fir tree, ever green.
We encircle it with lights, to call forth the growing light.
We trim it with talismans, memories of past places,
memorials to the dead.
It is sacred.
May your holidays be blessed. We’ll see you next week.