The fading light on the longest night
brought golden clouds and brisk wind.
I loaded wood on the cart and
wheeled it to the fire pit in
a clearing in the hemlocks.
A handful of hardy souls gathered around
the Solstice Fire to celebrate the sun's
re-birth. The silent and silvery moon
rose to watch our revelry, dancing
with the clouds as we danced with
the fire. With boughs of spruce
and fir we swept the year clean,
'round and 'round the circle
sweeping and blessing
each other,
and the land.
This morning, Pasha and I gathered the left over kindling
to light our morning fire and bring the blessings of
the circle into the house.
Inside, my tree is the Shaman World Tree.
With owls and angels up high,
and a skiing Santa Shaman who looks to me like a Sami
from the arctic circle in Norway. In his bag he carries
the magic that makes reindeer fly.
Another of my favorites is the Santa who stands with
arms outstretched for several weeks offering himself
to the wee critters who come to my tree to be a
part of the story.
There's also a sweet, sledding faery who lights her
way with a lantern,
and a mighty king who surveys the kingdom,
wandering the forest from Solstice 'til New Year's.
(actually, its a Queendom, but I don't tell him)
The Solstice table, ready to welcome
moon cakes and mulled cider and
cold-toed revelers, is guarded
by the White Reindeer and
his friend, the Santa Shaman
who shelters critters in his
robes.
And possibly my favorite of all, with his
Stag Staff and oak leaf bordered robe,
dances in spirals around his fire
in the center of the table,
banging his staff
loudly to make
sure he's got the
attention of the
ancestors.
Through this most lively of celebrations,
Pasha manages to dream other stories
by the heat of the wood stove,
on his little sheepskin rug.
