Mid-December. It was eight in the morning and Venus was hanging like a wrecker's light above the Black Craig. The hill itself - seen from our kitchen window - was still in silhouette, though the sky was lightening to a pale yellow-grey. It was a weakling light, stealing into the world like a thief through a window someone forgot to close. The talk was all of Christmas shopping and children's parties. Quietly, like a coded message, an invitation arrived to a meal to celebrate the winter solstice. Only six people would be there, and no electric light.

LRB 18 December 2003 | PDF Download