Nourish the Spirit, W&W Blog, Web & Wheel

Web & Wheel Blog: Yuletide

Submitted by Linda Dobbins

A YULETIDE POEM by C.C. Willford
‘Twas the night before Yuletide and all through the glen, Not a creature was
stirring, not a fox, not a hen. A mantle of snow shone brightly that night as it lay
on the ground, reflecting moonlight. The fairies were nestled all snug in their
trees, unmindful of flurries and a chilly north breeze. The elves and the gnomes
were down in their burrows, sleeping like babies in their soft earthen furrows
When low! The earth moved with a thunderous quake, causing chairs to fall over
and dishes to break. The little folk scrambled to get to their feet, then raced to
the river where they usually meet. “What happened?” they wondered, they
questioned, they probed, as they shivered in night clothes, some bare-armed,
some robed. “What caused the earth’s shudder? What caused Her to shiver?”
They all spoke at once as they stood by the river. Then what to their wondering
eyes should appear but a shining gold light in the shape of a sphere. It blinked, it
twinkled, it winked like an eye, then it flew straight up and was lost in the sky.
Before they could murmur, before they could bustle, there emerged from the
crowd, with a swish and a rustle, a stately old crone with her hand on a cane,
resplendent in green with a flowing white mane. As she passed by them, the old
crone’s perfume, smelling of meadows and flowers abloom, made each of the fey
folk think of the spring, when the earth wakes from slumber and the birds start to
sing. “My name is Gaia,” the old crone proclaimed in a voice that at once was
both wild and tamed, “I’ve come to remind you, for you seem to forget, that Yule
is the time of rebirth, and yet……” “I see no hearth fires, hear no music, no bells,
the air isn’t filled with rich, fragrant smells of baking and roasting and simmering
stews, of cider that’s mulled or other hot brews. There aren’t any children at play
in the snow, or houses lit up by candles aglow. Have you forgotten, my children,
the fun of celebrating the rebirth of the sun?” She looked at the fey folk, her eyes
going round, as they shuffled their feet and stared at the ground. Then she
smiled, the smile that brings light to the day, “Come, my children, “she said, “Let’s
play!” They gathered the mistletoe, gathered the holly, threw off the drab and
drew on the jolly. They lit a big bonfire, and they danced and they sang, they
brought out bells and clapped when they rang. They strung lights on the trees,
and bows, oh so merry, in colors of cranberry, bay berry and cherry. They buildt

giant snowmen and adored them with hats. They surrounded them with
snowbirds, and snow cats and bats. Then just before dawn, at the end of their
fest, before they went homeward, to seek out their rest, the fey folk they
gathered, ‘round their favorite oak tree, and welcomed the sun ‘neath the trees’
finery. They were just reaching home when it suddenly came, The gold light
returned like an arrow-shot flame. It lit on the the tree top where they could see
from afar, the golden-like sphere turned into a star. The old crone just smiled at
the beautiful sight, “Happy Yuletide, my children, she whispered, “Good night.”

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