Out of the darkness will come the light, Ulster County, and we will see that it was good.
The temperature this December 20 morning presently is a stinging 28°, which because of 88 percent humidity science claims should feel six degrees colder than that.
Astronomical dawn should be coming shortly, but the sun, that majestic fireball, will rise out of the Atlantic and climb higher above what hills there are that eastern New York may speak of at 7:21 a.m. Today we’ll see a high temperature of 36°, just warm enough to melt icicles left hanging down like glass chimes in the shadows. The moon is growing slender indeed, the serpent eye just risen. The day then promises both sun and moon together, reminding us we are astronauts on a strange journey through existence.
A slight wind blows from the northeast, hustling along what clouds there are left in what will be a wide blue sky. The day will be just nine hours and seven minutes long, and the sun will set at 4:28 p.m. High tide, low tide and high tide again, 10:24 a.m., 5:20 p.m., 10:44 p.m., the lunar and solar push and pull keep the waters slopping around.
According to the enigmatic fur trapper Dionizas who earns his keep on Mount Tremper, there remain just 80 days of winter temperatures ahead. Now for the snow forecast we go out to Bjorn Jorgensen on Belleayre Mountain. Bjorn, what does the mountain have in store for us?
Bjorn: Good morning, Johannes. You’re up earlier than usual this morning. I hope it is not your insomnia.
Johannes: Don’t even mention the word, Bjorn. I slept and I dreamt, but a mixture of regrets and sad memories had gathered like poor relatives to wait in the hallway outside the bedroom. Eventually, they gained courage and pushed their way in. Impossible to enjoy sleep with them standing over the bed.
What’s the temperature on the summit?
Bjorn: Well, I’ll take pity on you and give you the temperature in Fahrenheit.
Johannes: Not on my account, Bjorn. Celsius is the language of science. We are among the few holdouts. Micronesia. The Bahamas as well. Two or three others.
Bjorn: For Micronesia, then. The temperature on the summit is currently 20°.
Johannes: And how was your skiing the other morning? I forgot to ask you.
Bjorn: Yes. it was quite the rush, all wind in the ears and it was like breathing peppermint. And the skis handled quite nicely. But actually, I saw a curious thing. Not far from the summit, I decided to detour through a lightly wooded section and I noticed a number of ribbons had been tied around many of the branches belonging to a very conspicuous hawthorn tree.
Johannes: Uh, oh. And did you linger long?
Bjorn: Not particularly. I only bring it up because I forgot myself on an oddly angled piece of ground and before I knew it the skis were crossed and I was ass over teacup in the snow. Skis, legs. Everything tangled up. It was very painful for a second, but really the laughter was worth it.
Johannes: Oh, that’s not where I thought you were going. I was afraid we’d have a talking tree by the end of it.
Bjorn: No. The tree didn’t say anything. Do you know we are just one day from the solstice? It’s very exciting. I find myself in very fine fettle going forward into the Yule celebration.
Johannes: That’s a twelve-days-long bender, isn’t it?
Bjorn: You’re very funny. The feasting is the important part. And the fire. I have my eye on a tree for this purpose.
Johannes: Not the tree with the ribbons?
Bjorn: Of course not. You know I forgot to mention, while I was there laughing in the snow I saw her again.
Johannes: Saw her? You mean the murderess? The terrorizer of small animals?
Bjorn: Well, she is the hunter if that’s what you mean.
Johannes: And did she see you?
Bjorn: I don’t see how she couldn’t have. I had made a noisy spectacle of myself.
Johannes: But did she talk to you?
Bjorn: No, she did not. She seemed in a hurry.
Johannes: Probably off to slaughter a ram.
Bjorn: It occurred to me that perhaps she was the one tying the ribbons in the tree branches.
Johannes: I knew it would come to this, with the both of you wandering around the mountain. It was just a matter of time. It all starts with little stories just like this. Little coincidences. Little excuses.
Bjorn: Well, don’t sound so bitter. I wouldn’t mind to speak with her, of course. Perhaps during the Yule.
Johannes: Sure. Why not follow her and find out where she lives? You can start by leaving dead doves at her doorstep. And graduate up to hanging dead rabbits from her doorknob as your feelings increase.
Bjorn: Well, perhaps I’ll just finish with the snow report this morning. I had not mentioned it, but I believe we gained another millimeter of snow.
Johannes: You can’t hide your feelings from me, Bjorn.
Bjorn: I think we’ve said enough to one another today.
Johannes: Have it your way. We’ll check in again tomorrow for the lovestruck weather report. What’s that, Bjorn? That is an unprintable word.
The longest night of the year is so near now that even the shadows have grown longer. Another day. Another night. Another day. We’ll lose another minute of light before the balance begins to be returned. Even so, the seasonal lag has it in for us all. Hay and sugar and a burning tree.
Join the family! 
