Wednesday, December 07, 2005

some things come slowly

written to pacts, with the knob in mind. not sure why, but she was. perhaps because St. Alleviator comes to us all...

Contemplating slowly the meaning of the julethide, the winter, the yule... the feast that calls the sun, the food and prosperity in the middle of desolation, the candle that burns in the snow.

In these days the king of the holly, the night and the shortened sun, is kissed and killed by his son and lover, the king of the oak, the strong light and the lengthened days. and as the summer waxes and then wanes, the oak becomes the holly, and springs forth the red berries: and knows one day his son, the strong one, the unyielding, will put unresisted his pretty hands around the neck of the one made weak by the poison of the winter berries...

And underneath it all, the moment of the kiss, when the darkness kisses the sunlight, and the young girl laughs and begs with her eyes at the strength of the dancing, running man, and they meet under the boughs of holly, red with the lips of winter.

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