The procession slips across the meadow/senses acute to birdsong,
a catching of breath/expectation/scarcely perceptible/not Christmas/just Gaia/shifting
“There’ll be dancing in heaven/ On the night before the longest day”
“A people without the knowledge of their past history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots.”
It marks for us in Orkney the end of the long dark nights when the days will be lengthening.