The Winter Solstice, the oldest of the religious festivals at this time of the year, and the origin of a great many of the traditions of Christmas, and thus too the traditions of its more widely-celebrated successor Swik.
The shortest day and the longest night… small wonder this time of year is peak time for depression. But don’t let your demons get their talons into you… there’s always hope, always a chance at rebirth. The days will get longer, life is eventually renewed, and every volcanic devastation is followed by a wild season of bloom.
A new dawn is coming, and beyond it another, and another, and so on and so forth until the last syllable of recorded time… Macbeth wields this metaphor to express his weariness with life – but nothing stops us from taking this repetition in another direction, as Nietzsche attempted. Maybe life is indeed a tale told by an idiot – by many idiots, actually! – but that cannot also mean it signifies nothing.
Only a Game returns in the Gregorian New Year.