Saint of the Dawn

Ice cracking, soil thawing, buds sprouting on the withered branches. Hold your arms high! Saint of the solstice, saint of the returning light, he who beckons the first light after the long night. Saint of hope, saint of the ember under the ash that smolders still, the certainty that yes, light, warmth, life returns. Know this: nothing is forever, not even nothing. Face east, wherever you are.