Who better to describe the cold beauty and introspection of December than a ninth century Irish monk, who shares this column with me today. Slainte’. May the hounds run with you and protect you .
I have news for you
I have news for you:
The stag bells, winter snows, summer has gone
Wind high and cold, the sun low, short its course
The sea running high.
Deep red the bracken; its shape is lost;
The wild goose has raised its accustomed cry,
cold has seized the birds’ wings;
season of ice, this is my news.