”There are wild spirits in January, and don’t let anyone tell you different. They ride the wicked northeast winds that blow down from a pewter sky. They whisper in the forest and upon the high meadows where people seldom roam. They gurgle within the depths of streams whose bright surfaces have long since darkened with thick winter ice. Great stones on heights will become dislodged and tumble when the ice slides down. Trees may split wide under the tremendous force of freezing sap. And if animals or persons are hurt by the forces of the cold, it is not as if the winter elementals meant it, it simply is, for it is a fact that the time of ice must come. It is a spiraling power as irrevocable as a standing mountain and all must respect it.”
An excerpt from “Seasons of the Sacred Earth”.