Paganistan: Notes from the Secret Commonwealth

In Which One Midwest Man-in-Black Confers, Converses & Otherwise Hob-Nobs with his Fellow Hob-Men (& -Women) Concerning the Sundry Ways of the Famed but Ill-Starred Tribe of Witches.

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Burning Yule

In some places, Yule goes out with a blaze.

Where my parents live, there's a drop-off point in the parking lot at one of the local malls. Yule trees, wreaths, and swags of greenery—now beginning to dry—accumulate there.

And on the Saturday after Thirteen Night—brought to you courtesy of the local fire department—old Yule goes out in a blaze of glory.

Bold Yuletide is past, Thirteenth Night is the last.

So we bid you adieu: great joy to the New.

 

 

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Poet, scholar and storyteller Steven Posch was raised in the hardwood forests of western Pennsylvania by white-tailed deer. (That's the story, anyway.) He emigrated to Paganistan in 1979 and by sheer dint of personality has become one of Lake Country's foremost men-in-black. He is current keeper of the Minnesota Ooser.

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