When a mistletoe hangs and holly is abundant, the colors turn to red, green, and white. A part of the world is silent and magic is practiced ever so peacefully. There are wishes and hope and cheers, our planet will soon be new again. This celebration is for Sol, the sun that will rise and fall, endlessly.
On this hemisphere, life will be short today. Along his journey across the sky, we'll see the sun linger a bit. This night will be our longest. We'll set out candles, draw a ring 'round a fire, and listen for our sun set still.
The Cimmerian season starts today. Homer described this place as "land of perpetual mist and darkness." Within this fruitful darkness, new life will eventually emerge. Let this dim light play the role of a spiritual cradle, within it, the Sun is reborn. Father Time with his sickle, bids farewell. Earth will lay dormant, it's night silent and still. Some creatures will sleep this season away. Others will rest, waiting for the slow build toward longer days.
This isn't a day reserved for Wiccan or Heathen, it is indigenous. Newgrange and Stonehenge and Woodhenge, or where ever else you may be. An Indian tribe might reserve it for dreams. In the Celt lands, a hilltop bonfire, surrounded by people hoping to keep the darkness at bay. In India, they've already beckoned the goddess of light. Rama has returned and the portal closed on the third day.