Stonehenge has endured time. This morning the sun rose in the east. Light passed through the massive portals to cast a path marking the winter solstice. Beer and mead were ready for drinking after the season of fermentation. Both were served as food through the winter. I have always called the Winter Solstice the holy day Beermas.
I celebrated it often during the cold months.
Modern historians paint a bleak portrait of the Bronze Age.
The time after Meán Geimhridh was known as the famine months.
Neanderthals and Cro-magnons survived the annual starvations, but thanks to the fermentation of beer.
This morning I woke this morning to the sun rising over Brooklyn.
The light was gold on the tall buildings to the west.
The flash of dawn honored the time and the day.
Last year I drank beer and Irish Whiskey with friends.
I drank Irish whiskey.
It was a good beermas, but now there is no beer for Sean Coll and I will read through the longest night.
Brionglóid milis or sweet dreams.
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