30/12/2025
A few of you have been doing the math and noticed something intentional in our Yule journey. Our final night of Yule falls on the 31st, not the 1st. That is not an accident. It is exactly where it belongs.
In many ancient Celtic cultures, a day did not begin at sunrise. It began at sundown. Time was often measured by nights rather than days, which is why we still use words like fortnight, meaning fourteen nights. Night came first. Darkness was the opening of the day, not the end of it.
Yule itself has always been a night-centered observance. It is bound to the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year, when the world pauses in its deepest dark. This was not a thing to fear, but something sacred. Fires were lit, candles were tended, and stories were shared to mark the moment when the sun’s return was first promised. The light did not rush back. It was carried, gently and intentionally, through the long winter ahead.
This is the heart of Yule. The honoring of darkness while holding light. The remembering that warmth, growth, and life continue even when they are not yet visible.
With that understanding, it makes perfect sense that the final night of Yule falls on New Year’s Eve. That night is a threshold. A turning. It is the dark doorway between what has been and what is coming. We stand in the night, carrying forward what we have learned, what we hope for, and what we are ready to release.
So our last night of Yule is not about ending on a calendar page. It is about ringing in the new year the way our ancestors welcomed every turning. In the dark. With intention. With light held carefully in our hands.
This is Yule as it has always been. Rooted in night. Carried by fire. Turning quietly toward the sun.
