The trees, silhouettes against the stormy sky, moan conversations I struggle to understand. Can I imply meaning from the timbre of the sounds? To me, German sounds angry and Spanish sounds passionate. To me the trees’ wails and aches seem complaints to me. Do they speak of the frozen wind or the mounds of snow? Do they wonder when the warmth will return and the blankets of snow will melt?

Perhaps they speak of the night. This holy night.

Christmas Eve is this night.

Alone in this moment, in the snowy night with a sweater to comfort me, I breathe in the solace. Long icicles reach down from the eaves and catch the sparse light pouring from within my home. The trees’ conversation is broken only by the crisp wind winding up the mountain. Across the expanse from my position at the peak of the foothill, I see lights on the mountain beyond. People celebrating. People drinking rum cocktails after skiing and snowboarding.

People together.

No matter tonight’s title, the gathering of humans to share and celebrate will never change.

The trees remember and know still this eve marks the longest night. The solstice. A time of fear of hunger, fear of the bone chilling wind, fear of the darkness, fear of death. Humans gathering to dispel the fear. To hope the food stores would last, hope the warmth would return, hope the sun would rise again, hope life would renew. Each spark of the yule log a promise of a spring calf.

Huddled before roaring fires, that yule log burning to ash, loved ones would gather, thankful. Stories shared. Surrounded by music and laughter. Traditional meals and temptations ignored for the rest of the year. The time to open doors to house and feed the less fortunate. To pause and thank the heavens and each other for the years’ blessings. To remember forefathers and foremothers with tenderness and respect. The very best of humanity. Love, companionship, and kinship against the many fears inherent in life.

Perhaps we cannot distill tonight to Christ’s birth. We know tonight is not a prayer to invite the warmth of the sun to return. Perhaps the night is deeper and holds a significance beyond one culture, one moment, one religion. This lifetime, this time, tonight is called Christmas. As the ancient prayer for the sun to return, the moniker of Christmas, too, will pass. The spirit of this night, however, shall never wane. Tonight is the most blessed.

The trees know. I understand them now, singing how precious, special, and powerful we are. The wind in harmony with the pines’ voices caresses our home, Earth. On this rock spiraling through the heavens, we have this moment to be our best selves. To shine as brightly as the shimmer in the icicles.

We can carry this moment even as the sun returns, and the day lengthens. We can celebrate this place, and each other, every day.

Happy Holidays.