Solstice.S

The Solstice is nearly upon us, poor light-starved peasants. I know it won’t make much difference to the amount of daylight to be had, not for a while anyways. But my blood will know the end is nigh. And soon, soon, soon it’ll be February and the first almost invisible buds will pop out and the air will smell better even if it’s pissing down. And all that. So, here’s the seasonal greetings. Have a nice Solstice, folks. If you feel like it, sacrifice a few bastards to Mrs WinteryWitch, in whose cosmic brewing womb stars nest and nothing is wasted. The little red dancers will take very good care of them, I assure you. Iä, iä Shub-Niggurath! (For good measure.)