The people have come to the circle. The music is stopped and the talk dies away. The cool light of the moon and stars paints the landscape with a pale glow. The fire before me is near spent, as is the old year. I up-end a bucket of water on the last of the glowing embers, watching the fragrant steam and smoke rise to the sky.

I raise my arms on high and begin he ceremony:

The cruel hag of winter has gone
Alone to her ice-home in the north
Forth springs the new greening
Keening not for the loss

The seasons turn in their own time
Sublime warmth wraps the earth
Hearth and home are swept clean
Green season we greet you

With lump of flint and nodule of hard iron, I strike a spark into the dry tinder on the altar. It glows fitfully and I gently blow it to life. A flicker or two and the flame burns steadily. I add the bits of kindling and it blazes brighter. I light a torch and hold it aloft in greeting of the new season.

Behold the light of the new dawning
Morning comes with the daystar's rising
In this wise, we greet him!

With this, I thrust the torch into the base of one tower and then the other. The flames leap up to the sky, blotting out the faint light of the night. The warm glow echoes off the stolid stones and I give the sign for the music to begin. The Bard strikes his harp and the others join in. Thrice more, I lead the living serpent around the circle. On the final circuit, I lead the revelers between the two pillars of flame. This will burn out the winter's sicknesses and give renewed strength and life to all.

As we pass the fires, many of the folk add their own offerings to the flames. Their heartfelt requests rise on the smoke. Next will come the blessing and purification of the herd animals; the cattle and the sheep and the goats and such. The people move back as the lads lead the livestock through the bright archway. "Now it is time to make your leaps of skill and your leaps of faith!" I call out. Some stay to revel near the fire. Some return to the village and the feast. As for me, I quietly retreat into my woods, on the far side of the hill. Who knows? Perhaps the Oak King will make himself known to me, this year?