Mid-Winter has always been the turning point in my year. The cold has settled in, the nights are long, and the world has gone into deep rest. Yule is the celebration that rises from this midpoint, reminding us that the darkest days are passing and the long return of the light has already begun.
Winter Solstice, by contrast, is the astronomical beginning of winter. The sun stands still, paused at its lowest point before it climbs again. But Yule sits in the heart of the season, honoring endurance, hope, and the slow rebuilding of warmth.
Both acknowledge the promise of returning light. One marks the shift above us. The other welcomes its meaning within us.
For me, this time of year is a personal and sacred pause. A chance to sit with the dark, the cold, and the ancient knowledge that the light will return because it always has.
A Solitary Candle Ritual for the Longest Nights
On Mid-Winter night, I turn off the heat and every light in the house. The quiet is immediate. The cold creeps in more quickly than expected. I sit in the darkness, with the cold pressing on my skin, and I breathe. I reflect on what this season meant to those who lived long before me—those who waited, not knowing how long winter would stretch, surviving on dried fruit and salted meat when hunting grew scarce.
There is no noise from screens, no artificial brightness, no modern convenience to soften the experience. Just me, the cold, and the dark. This moment is a reminder: light and warmth were once fragile gifts, not switches on a wall.
When the time feels right, I strike a match and light a single candle. Its small glow changes everything. One flame, and the shadows soften. One flame, and the room begins to feel alive again. I watch that tiny sun flicker and grow steadier, a symbol of what is promised but not yet fully returned.
Then I light another. And another. The room brightens slowly, as though dawn is arriving candle by candle. I eat a little dried fruit and a few nuts—simple foods with a long lineage of sustaining people through winter nights. The warmth returns. The light returns. And with gratitude, I turn the heat and lights back on, illuminating the whole house. It’s a live with light. But I carry the lesson with me.
A Circle of Light: Group Candle Ceremony
Celebrating with others brings a different kind of magic. The steps are much the same—lights off, heat down, darkness welcomed. A group sits together in the stillness, gathering their thoughts and intentions for the sun's return.
When the moment arrives, I light my candle and pass the flame to the person on my left. They light their candle, then pass the flame to their left, and so it continues around the circle. With each new light, the room grows warmer, spirits lift, and the circle becomes a constellation of hope.
Blessings are shared—sometimes spoken aloud, sometimes held quietly in the heart. A shared feast follows, something comforting and hearty. We celebrate the promise that light always returns, and that none of us journeys through the coldest season alone.
Reflection for the Season
This ritual is not about rushing the light back. It is about honoring the dark as part of the cycle. Winter does not simply end. It transforms us. Sitting in the darkness, even briefly, we remember that strength is often quiet. Courage is often cold. But the flame always finds its way back.
In the heart of winter, we do not banish the dark.
We learn from it, thank it, and then rise into the returning light.