Walking through the damp mist of winter.

 I come upon an eerie seen of holly and yew.

Suspended in an atmosphere of gloom.

The boughs hanging with no obvious means of support.

I stepped into a circle of pagan myth and legend.

In a time to celebrate the returning of the Sun.

The ancients would celebrate this moment as one.

The hardship and the trials of winter now the lightening has begun.

As the days grow longer hope returns.

Survival seems possible plans for a future return.

Memories of hunger and the ague fade.

Memories of the spring glade and laughter pervade.

Children playing in the sun’ seeds sown springs work done.

Birthing in the autumn before the harshness of winters cold.

Food to be stored and preserved to see them through the dark bleakness of winter.

Optimism of crops and a summer of bountiful plenty