Solstice

When I dreamed of having a homestead I dreamed of days like this. A small warm house with billowing chimneys. A snow squall swirling outside my windows. Songbird gossip at the feeders. A roast chicken in the oven. And me, with no plans but to let the day pass gently by.

I had two fires lit before sunrise. It’s important to light them before dawn on the shortest day. Daylight is on the way back home. The fires; an anticipatory porch light.

I celebrate Yule because it’s the oldest way humans have collectively marked the return of hope. Over the years and oceans, all sorts of holy figures emerged and claimed the day for their own; Mithra, Saturn, Horus, Jesus, Apollo—all certain they were the reason hope returned. The mythology didn’t matter because the solstice has always meant the same thing to us all: more light.

More Light.
More Warmth.
More Hope.

I know it is easy to focus on lack when it is so cold and dark, but did you know our prayers have already been answered? Summer won, babe. This long night is darkness’s last stand, not a victory march. Every day from now until the next solstice, we get more light. We had to hit this low point to understand hope isn’t just possible, it’s inevitable.

How often we forget that in our darkest times we’re already on our way past them. This is how all things are balanced in nature and time. Outlast the despair. You can’t even imagine how good things will get.

When I dreamed of having a homestead I dreamed of days like this.

Blessed Yule from all the heartbeats at Cold Antler Farm.