Saturday, December 23, 2006

Night Yule Garden

All was silent as I stood quietly in the sleeping garden. It was 5:30 on Solstice morn and I had planned to greet the dawn on the banks of the River Thames at Wapping. It not being time to set out yet, I took a moment to be with myself in the stillness.

The city mumbled sleepily. From time to time, a siren wailed its lament, sound ricocheting from east to west across the silent sky. Yet no one seemed disturbed by the sudden explosion of noise and it’s as rapid dying out.

My slender ladylike Rowan tree pointed bare fingers across the garden. I stood beside her, gently touching her smoothes bark, as I made my morning prayers. She and I watched without seeing, all there was to know here in this quietness.

Technically, solstice had begun at just after midnight. We were already moving towards the return of the light. But something inside me wanted it not to come just yet. Something inside me wanted to rest in the dark and quiet, in the stillness for a bit longer. I wasn’t quite ready yet. I needed to allow that sadness in my chest to be acknowledged like a blanket of heaviness that I was not ready to fling off yet.

And as I thought this, I heard footsteps approaching along the pavement on the other side of the house. Two voices, raised in drunken laughter bounced into the quiet. The dawn was chasing two dirty stop out revellers to bed! I smiled to hear them, acknowledging their eagerness to party, party, party in celebration of the light’s return.

I reached down and picked up a heavy, smooth stone from my garden alter. Caressing it gently in my two hands I breathed quietly and softly. I was waiting. The rock was waiting. Offering a prayer of thanks to the Lady for the nurturing darkness, I too allowed myself to dream of the light’s return.

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