The sunlight is accumulating in copper and gold amongst the folds of the morning. Through my misty windows all I can see is shadows and gleam. Some bird has come down from the forest to sing welcome to the solstice. I remember this day many years ago, the door it opened for me. I love best of all the year these next three long nights, the heart of winter's darkness, the promise of light to come. And I wish for you all the blessings of your season, whether you are in midsummer or midwinter. Always, there are blessings given.
And I want to say a little word too about language. That forest bird which is singing sounds so different from the sparrows and seagulls. I have no doubt many of my neighbours will shut their windows against it, wanting a little more Sunday morning silence for their sleep-in. But some of us love the dark wild song of strange places. Some of us speak a different language from the normal ones. If you don't like or understand that language, go listen to someone else. Here at the edges, we are singing our love.