Even in the bleakest, coldest weather, there is still a flame of hope...
The air is cold, and the snow begins
To fall, softly, as the daylight thins
The blizzard blows with biting wind
Once Winter Solstice underpinned
The seasonal days, the feast of Yule
When for twelve days, Woden's rule
Brings the gods closest to Midgard
The middle world, and the graveyard
Lets loose the restless dead, in strife
Seeking restitution for enmity in life
Shadows seeking to be reconciled
Bound fast as if by ghostly chains
Now vixen howls in hunger pains
And wolves are hunting in the wild
The forest white, the snowdrift piled
Deep in hollows, the gale blowing
Swirling whorls of ice are flowing
In the frosty air, but then comes heat
As the Yule log is lit, mince pies eat
Mulled wine warms away the cold
Lanterns shining, bright and bold.
This is the bleak midwinter, but now
Time to celebrate in many ways how
Rebirth of the sun comes once more
As if knocking opens Winter's door
Crackers like Woden's hammer smite
Making sparks, a portent of the light
That shines above in the starry skies
Somewhere below, a new-born cries.
La Séthée ès Chorchièrs - Halloween - Des matéthiaux pouor la Séthée ès Chorchièrs - #Halloween materials #jerriais pic.twitter.com/SA0D2Kzevn — L'Office du Jèrriais (@le_jerriais) October 23,...
12 hours ago