Autumn makes me want to live in a small town with tons of history and character. Leaf-strewn cobblestone streets. Old buildings and homes that range from small cottages to large estates. Maple, oak, and pine trees line the streets and cluster in yards, and when they all turn orange and gold in the fall it’s the most beautiful sight. Small local businesses thrive. It’s walking distance to your favorite coffee shop or diner. There’s an ancient library on the edge of town with the greatest selection of books, comfy armchairs, tables, and big windows to read by. Time moves slower there. Everything is safe.
“Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.”
So the Shortest Day came and the year died And everywhere down the centuries of the snow‐white world Came people singing, dancing, To drive the dark away.
They lighted candles in the winter trees; They hung their homes with evergreen; They burned beseeching fires all night long To keep the year alive.
And when the new year’s sunshine blazed awake They shouted, reveling. Through all the frosty ages you can hear them Echoing behind us ‐ listen!
All the long echoes, sing the same delight, This Shortest Day, As promise wakens in the sleeping land: They carol, feast, give thanks, And dearly love their friends, And hope for peace.
And so do we, here, now, This year and every year. Welcome Yule!
