Because this transition point was so deeply rooted in the cycles and seasons of that particular land, that particular place, that particular latitude and longitude, as well as my own needs and inclinations, celebrating that time of year became much more important to me than keeping the ‘traditional’ Celtic seasonal festivals at other times – especially those that didn’t much relate to the seasons and rhythms of my own days. It was an annual ritual: a welcoming back of night, of the moon, the constellations. In late August, when the nights slowly began to grow darker, I would head off with a sleeping bag down to the headland to sleep out on the rocks by the shore, so that I could wake up in the middle of the night and see the stars again in all that dark-sky glory. You couldn’t see the stars the moon was a pale shadow of her usual self. Years ago, when I lived on the Isle of Lewis, the most difficult about being in that place was the fact that, for four months of the year – two each side of summer solstice – there was no proper darkness. Winter, for me, is filled with so many gifts, and the greatest gift of all is the presence and prominence of the night sky. Please read on for news and course discounts, as well as the usual monthly recommendations and poem.
