Have the woodpile to burn stacked and ready, County of Ulster. It’s December 21, and the morning of the long night is finally here. The great pendulum swing between the longest day and longest night reaches its wintermost amplitude and hangs there. Even the tide is confused. Aye. A low tide today at 6:13 p.m. will be down three inches below what should be the equilibrium position of the water surface, so to speak. Slack tide in heavens, suck tide in the deep.
The temperature this morning is 19°, a temperature to terrify anyone from the southern latitudes. The day will warm up to 35° somewhere around 3 p.m., the warmest hour of our day. Nine hours and seven minutes is the entire length of the day, and starting tomorrow the balance of daylight begins to be return. Grudgingly at first but measurable.
The wind today is no stronger than a butterfly’s breath.
According to the irascible fur trapper Dionizas on Mount Tremper, there remain 79 days of winter temperatures ahead.
Now for the lovelorn forecast we go out to Bjorn Jorgensen on Belleayre Mountain. Bjorn, how does the mountain’s heart beat?
Bjorn: With ice pumping through its chambers, Johannes. You have the wit of a scapegrace, but good morning to you, anyway. You will be interested to know at the summit the darkness of this morning I watched the moonrise in the east, what little moon was left. Bright Mars was in the sky. Jupiter had already set. I don’t know where Saturn was.
Johannes: I love a good moonrise. Nothing makes us feel more alien and alone in the universe.
Bjorn: Yes, I could see that. And yet it feels to me as a decoration to the starry heavens, less about loneliness are more about splendor.
Johannes: A bleak splendor.
Bjorn: As you wish.
Johannes: There’s no air on the moon, Bjorn. Scarred and potholed, bombarded by asteroids. Sprayed with the millennia of the sun’s raw radiation. Cold and silent and barren. It lives in the dreams of those who would ravage and exploit it for raw minerals.
Bjorn: But I see the crescent like a dream shape. I see the Hilaal of a Muslim flag. I see the rabbit up there mixing medicine with mortar and pestle. I see a white canoe. I see the moon as company, like a woman arrived with a lantern just as one mayout to give into the darkness.
Johannes: A virgin with a candle, eh? You see what you want to see because you prefer to see it.
Bjorn: As does everyone, Johannes. Enough of this. Tonight is the Long Night! Week after week of passing expectation and then, there it is. The day arrived.
Johannes: And have you prepared a feast, Bjorn? Abundant and sumptuous? Meat and mushrooms, sage and cayenne, rosemary and thyme, and olive oil, salt and fire to sprinkle over it all?
Bjorn: All is prepared.
Johannes: And do you have drink? Milk and honey? Also gurgling and red, potent and oaky, just the thing for a night’s long thirst?
Bjorn: Of course.
Johannes: And spices? Cinnamon, clove and nutmeg?
Bjorn: Why not lemons and oranges? You talk like a man lost in the desert imagining a feast. You’ll only make it worse for yourself if you don’t come up the mountain.
Johannes: I’m a big one for vicarious living, Bjorn. I can taste the words. And what of your snowmen?
Bjorn: I’ve given them tribute in laurel wreaths, but made of holly. And as the night falls I’ll blindfold each one. Until they promise to leave off with politics for just the night. Nothing can be decided tonight that won’t be picked over again tomorrow. Change and revolution will be put on hold. Now is not the right time, just a little longer, wait and be vigilant, your time will come, whispers the forked tongue. Well, nothing can be done tonight, and I will not arm them. If they refuse, they can keep their blindfolds on.
Johannes: And what of company beyond fanatics?
Bjorn: Set the fire. Prepare the feast. String a guitar. Warmth and splendor. The stars are bright. Who’s to say?
Johannes: A bonfire in the night is attractive indeed.
The moon sets at 2:45 p.m. and will stay out of the way of the stars all night long, though this hardly matters. When it rises again just before the sun, only one percent of the crescent moon will remain.
Join the family! 
