December 22

     One last luminaria was still lit in my yard as I sat down to write this. I woke twice in the night. The candles were still glowing in the night, under the stars. In the pale light, before the sun rises, the luminaria cast a golden light against the blue of the snow. I walked back along the path to the woods with the now silent dog. The luminaria still lined the trail where the horn dancers emerged from the forest on the longest night. This short trail led out to the stone wall, which I stepped over, to follow the path I walked on the eve of the solstice. 
     All around, in the wood behind my house, the snow was still undisturbed, except for my footprints. As I turned to head up to a formation of rocks called "The Three Kings, I looked down at my feet, and saw hoof prints in the show, along with my own prints from a day and a half earlier. The deer had walked in my footprints. Or else, I had walked their trail, unknowingly, on the eve of the solstice.
     I'm sure the last luminaria has sputtered out now. I don't need to go see it.