We welcomed winter last night with an annual ritual of the farm, the Winter Solstice fires. This was perhaps the most beautiful of our fires, the most meaningful, and by far, the coldest. After an hour and a half outside (holding a cat for much of the time), my hands and feet were frozen.

As usual, I did not dress warmly enough, my bad, but it took me a good while to thaw out and gulp down a warm oatmeal bowl. Zip came into the pasture and ended up in my lap, and we tried to keep one another warm. Zip was afraid of the flames for about two minutes and then settled in for some stroking.

Maria, a pagan at heart, cherishes this ritual, and last night, so did I. It welcomed winter and evoked spring simultaneously. The shortest day was yesterday; the official start of winter is today. I took some photos with the Iphone and the new (old) Leica monochrome. This was a special night for us; getting numb was well worth it.

I couldn’t move my fingers for a while, so I’m posting the photos this morning before going to the Mansion.

Maria has been saving the wood, burning some things we both wanted to let go of, and stirring the fire while I stirred Zip, sat, meditated, and had some long spiritual and pagan discussions by the fire. We drank dark chocolate together and discussed what the evening meant. In a way, we wanted to honor all the people on farms before us who thought this day was the most important of the year. We are off to the mansion for a meditation class. Later. I hope you enjoy the pictures.

Come and see.

The monochrome captured the power of the fire.

We sat and talked and drank hot chocolate.

 

The logs burned quickly; there was a stiff wind at first. I read two poems, one from Mary Oliver and one from Robert Frost.  This is the time, wrote Oliver, when the birds give up and settle down for the winter or go South.

Both cameras captured the feel of the night, cold, and wind. The monochrome seemed to reach into the heart and soul of the fire.

 

Every time I looked, the fire looked different. The wind got it roaring.

Zinnia sat at my feet and fell asleep; Zip was on my left shoulder, purring.

Zip invited himself to the hospice; we had a good time with each other. He seems to fear nothing.

Maria stroked the flames and started to bring the fire down. Afterward, we sprinkled the ground around the fire with water to ensure no sparks reached the barn. There was no wind by the end, but it was even colder.

Zinnia sat right between us and finally fell asleep. What a sweet and loving dog. What a bold and beautiful note.