Yule: The Way of Return
In the longest night,
the lantern is lit.
Darkness is deep,
yet within it, light is born.
The sun stands still.
We do not rush the dawn.
We gather in stillness,
tending the inner soil.
Rest is not emptiness—
it is the root of all growth.
The bell rings at first light.
We trust the turning,
not by force,
but by gentle waiting.
The wheel moves,
and so do we,
slowly, steadily,
becoming new.
Planting is not hurried.
A single seed,
placed in quiet earth,
holds the promise of forests.
We share warmth,
not to banish cold,
but to remember connection.
A meal between times,
a gift given simply,
a story by the fire—
these are enough.
The Yule log burns,
its ashes saved for spring.
What is released
becomes what will grow.
Let the days lengthen.
Let hope return,
not all at once,
but as the sun returns—
moment by moment,
breath by breath.
To return is to trust
that even in the darkest night,
light is already on its way.