The hour has gotten away with me! I find myself near the night of the epiphany with no mention of the Christmastide. The lords season lifted the burden of these affairs and I breath a little easier. The crisping of the air and tintinnabulation ringing from every door has been a joy for this weary soul. Father Christmas lightens even the darkest days.
Even Mathers and Yeats were driven from my doorstep for a time. They returned upon boxing day like an unwanted present from a distant relation. Crowley prowls more gentle climes was their message of yuletide. My gratitude for these words was short lived. His return would be soon as their were many rites associated with the new year. Blessing and sanctification of the halls and abbeys his congregation held sway upon. These workings of magics made several days that were seemingly benign, dark with there works.
Mathers too had work at hand, intermixed with intention to bring me further in his fold. Strange chants were to be memorized for some dark night soon ahead. Burn's night may be put off this year and I so love the toasting of the mighty pudding chieftain.
Yours very truly,