Winter Solstice. Animism, Ancestor Weekend, the sweet call of Yule Tide.

Backyard just before dawn Wednesday morning, the outlines of bare branches seem almost purple against a heavy gray sky. To the eye all else appears barren, but the intuitive eyes, the heart eyes, the soul eyes–a ripeness of movement motions the air. Some Solstices are deeply still, some you feel the quickening so ripe it…