...and to you, your waissail, too, and gods send you a happy new year....
and so we turn the corner of the year. from here on out, the days lengthen, the light grows stronger. a fat moon beamed from the treetops, the morning stars were bright. the sky is calm and clear and silent. the newborn Sun rises just a little higher in the sky and daylight lasts just a minute more. only six, seven more weeks at most 'til pitchers and catchers report.
last night, we toasted the Season with mead, the gift of a dear friend, rich with the tang of roses, thick as the heat of summer nights, the liquid compression of light and bud and leaf.
this morning, Beloved goes to serve the poor, and i prepare the last of this Season's feasts. i have no idea how many are coming to dinner. we may be as few as ten, as many as fifteen. it really doesn't matter. the eastern sky above the treeline is very bright and very blue but the light outside my window is still dark gray.
i pour the dregs of last night's mead into my coffee cup. the word "waissail" comes from the anglo-saxon "was hel," which means "be well." in this calm before the storm, i sip and savor.
waissail – be well - my dear friends, my Faithful Readers, my fellow pixels in cyberspace. be well and blessed and loved. may you have warmth on cold nights, full moons on dark nights, and may the road be ever downhill all the way to your door.
and furthermore, the war must end. blessed be!