The Winter Solstice: Celebrating Yule

“This is the solstice, the still point

Of the sun, its cusp and midnight,

The year’s threshold

And unlocking, where the past

Lets go of and becomes the future;

The place of caught breath, the door

Of a vanished house left ajar.”

Margaret Atwood.

Tomorrow marks the Winter Solstice in the Northern Hemisphere: the longest night or shortest day, depending on how you look at it. The Solstice is the start of astronomical Winter, a time of rest and renewal, growth and reflection. For centuries this darkest day was a time of fire and feasting, marked in the Celtic Wheel of the Year by the celebration of Yule. Many of our contemporary traditions are actually pre-Christian, originating with the Celts. For instance, the bringing indoors of festive greenery - especially mistletoe to symbolise fertility and holly to represent eternal life - acted as a poignant reminder of the fresh start the season offers.

Wreaths were also used in Pagan Solstice rituals by the ancient Celts, the circular shape representing the continuing cycle of life. Now that I’ve acquired some festive greenery from Gloam at Guardswell Farm, I’ll be making my wreath and Christmas table centrepiece with pine, eucalyptus and juniper tomorrow. I can’t wait.

For me, this celebration is just as meaningful as Christmas itself: a reminder that everything is cyclical, and to make the most of the comforts of home and hearth. This time of year is about finding joy in small pleasures – all the more important at this uncertain time – like setting the table, even if it’s just for yourself. My mantra this festive season is about seeking simplicity, keeping things even more stripped back than usual. This year I’m planning a similar table to last year’s green and white setting pictured here with touches of gold: a linen tablecloth, vintage crockery, candles and homemade decorations.

This deepest, darkest part of Winter can be hard - and that was part of my motivation for starting this newsletter. As much as a reminder to myself as anyone else, I find carving out ways to mark these seasonal shifts, to pause and take stock, to notice and to bring in the light where we can to be deeply comforting - and I hope you do too. So this Midwinter be extra kind to yourself: take things one moment at a time, keep your hands busy and carve out moments in nature to still your mind.

Savour the quiet magic of Midwinter – the nights are drawing out again.