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The
longest night, the shortest day - a turning point. The winter
solstice holds the sun on a still point on the horizon. From
this day on it will reverse its course and move toward
that farthest stopping point on the horizon where it will rise on
the Summer Solstice.
Hope returns - each day will grow lighter, longer. In County Mayo, Ireland the sun rose a bright orange fire ball above our river Glore. I wondered about those gathered miles away in the dark tomb of Newgrange, Ireland waiting for that first light ray as it entered a small slit of stone. That famous slit, an opening with a monumental green mound built around it. What did each person bring to that dark place to be illuminated? People of privilege and position chosen to stand bathed in the golden glow of the longest night. What can they or anyone know of ancient mystery?
The day continued bright and
clear. We drove up to a lake, one of many in the region. It was as
smooth as a mirror. Each monolithic rock and small island
duplicated itself perfectly in its own reflection. The opposite
shore and mountain horizon could clearly be seen, an unbroken line
of far away beach. The mountain peaks reached flatly into the lake
as they touched the sky. Time on that lake was frozen on the
unbroken surface of the water.
If there was an Avalon in Ireland, where the veil is lifted and the two worlds of myth become one, then it was at the lake that day of the Winter Solstice. Sally McKenna | Hoop of the Seasons | |
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Music
by Westport Whispers.