It is the night of Solstice, and I am cooking. Italian sauce for dinner with dear friends tomorrow; Papa's favorite cookies backed and an orange, walnut, cranberry Bundt cake in the oven; just finished freezing homemade green chili for a winter meal as Dvorak's cello concerto in B minor, op 104 drifts through the soft light of my warm and welcoming kitchen. A faded sunset of pale gold and pearly white is settling into the west, bringing on the longest night of the year and heralding a period of rest and meditation for Pagan gardeners.
My roses are dormant. They sleep now, dreaming of summer light and soft rain. Tulips, daffodils, iris and crocus will stir at the Quickening, beginning to stretch their greenery at the Maiden Goddess' command.
The Great Crone Hecate is eminent now. Singing lovingly to the old year as it moves inevitably toward its death. She will watch all winter, helping life begin and end. Her magic is sacred, Her power incorruptible and absolute. This is Her time, and a time of comfort, stillness and tranquility for those of us who know Her.
I wish you all of this and more. Happy Solstice my sisters.