I had big plans for this Solstice. The house is done (mostly), the second job is finished (mostly), and life has settled down to a dull roar (sort of). I dreamed of getting back to the wonderful solstice parties we used to have, where friends gathered together to light candles and say blessings and to tumble our intentions out into the dark in hopes that we could follow them through the winter and arrive somewhere sunny and bright with dreams flung wide.
My house is almost too perfect for entertaining now (who is this grownup family that lives here?), but tonight it’s just me and Rhys and a blanket and our own little Yule log. In the crush of birthdays and Christmas trees and end-of-semester madness and holiday knitting, this dark night is going to be a quiet and relatively uncomplicated one.
I love the gathering and the bringing together of light and of dreams, but right now, a quiet evening warming our home is the very light I think I need. I’m realizing that the creeping night of winter has had its own intention in my life, reminding me to invest my heart in my home and family, to feed the fires. This growing night’s cold and darkness has kept me tending the fire, keeping a warm glow around our very center, and before looking toward the earth’s coming light, I’m going to coax bright flames from this little hearth and warm my hands and feet before it, and forget the chill outside.
Whatever hearth warms your life this solstice eve, may its flame burn brightly and may it keep you through the long dark night.