Thank you, Jenny! I think of Solstice as stretching over several days, because the sun really does appear to stand still in its movement on the horizon for several days, before beginning its apparent journey in the other direction again. So you're not late at all! Winter blessings and much grace to you in this sacred time.
Blessings to you, as well, Susan❣️ A beautiful tradition. When I lived in Santa Fe we called those farolitos or bagolitas 😅 The larger pyres were called luminarias. They were made of limbs about 4 feet long and arranged like a teepee for burning. I know you've been to NM! Thank you for including us here. Amazing sunset there and here in northern AZ 🏜️
Thank you for those blessings! I lived in Santa Fe for 4 years, so I know they're called farolitos and bagolitas there, but I lived in southern NM for longer, and there they're called luminarias. So I stick with the name I learned first--tradition, I guess. Glad you saw that great sunset in northern AZ too. Did you see the new moon? It was glorious here.
Thanks, Sue. Nope, no snow. It's been warm, warm, warm and dry. Our snowpack started off well with two storms in late November and early December, and then the temps warmed into the upper 40s and low 50s. Way too warm for this time of year. We're hoping for snow in a few days, but as it stands, things look grim. I purely hate climate change.
Thanks for sharing this luminous offering Susan, and what a spectacular sunset. The luminarias feel like both blessing and practice—small, steady lights that don’t banish the darkness, but companion it. I’m grateful for the reminder that tending light can be simple, local, and rooted right where we stand. Solstice blessings to you and to that beautiful valley holding your home.
Thank you, Camilla! I hadn't thought of the luminarias as a practice because I only make them once a year, but they really are a spiritual practice for me. I create them specifically for Winter Solstice, and in past years, I always had a party and invited folks to help me light them. When Richard, my late husband was alive, we lined our whole half-block with several hundred luminarias. The folding and filling of bags, placing the candles and lighting them was a big ritual, and because he loved a big party, we invited a hundred or so friends to join us and then stay for the homemade eggnog I make. Those parties were legendary in the small town where we lived, and while I don't miss the crowds and the work involved, I am looking forward to next year when my yard isn't all torn up and I can have a few people over to help me light the darkness in my own way with a smaller celebration! Blessings to you.
Susan, thank you so much for sharing this—what a beautiful lineage of light and love you’re carrying forward. It’s moving to hear how the luminarias held community, celebration, and Richard’s joy for gathering, and how that ritual has gently transformed with time and loss. There’s something so wise in letting the practice change scale while keeping its heart intact. I love the image of a smaller circle next year, lighting the darkness together in a way that fits this season of life. Blessings to you as you carry this ritual onward, tenderly and true.
Thanks for understanding, Camilla. You are right about keeping the heart of the luminaria ritual intact. It lifts my heart to see these tiny candles nestled on a scoop of sand in a fragile paper bag burning all night long, and greeting the dawn the next morning, lighting the darkness to remind us all that the light does return. Every time. May we all find our own ways to light the darkness in these times!
Susan I wasn't familiar with the practice of lighting luminaries until you wrote about them. You and Richard were going to light them - it might have been when you did them down the block. So on solstice, I assembled the necessary materials and bordered both sides of the walkway to our house. It was cold out, but that only added to the magic. The stillness and light were unique and special and I thought of you and Richard far away doing the same. It was transcendent. David, my late hubbs, remembered them from Chile where he grew up (his grandparents started a mission continued by his parents.) I've thought of you and your luminarias often at solstice. May the light within glow and grow enlightening the stillness of being. Blessings on you and your journey always, Susan.
Mary, Luminarias (the real kind, not the electric ones) have been part of my winter holiday celebrations for so long that I had to think back to where I first learned them. Molly was in band and orchestra when we moved to Las Cruces, and their winter fundraiser was selling luminarias by the hundreds. Each band kid had to prepare 250 luminaria bags (fold over the end of the bag to hold it open once it got two cups of sand and a votive candle). So you can guess who spent her evenings folding luminaria bags! Seeing hundreds of luminarias all lit on the same evening in our neighborhood, all of those little candles in their paper bags lighting the darkness made a powerful impression on me. So I adapted the tradition to winter solstice and have assembled and lit luminarias every solstice since! (Which would be 35 solstices now.) How wonderful that David knew the tradition from his growing up in Chile! It's the Christmas Eve thing throughout the Hispanic Catholic world. Many blessings to you!
Mary, I have always loved the dark time for just that: time to slow down and reflect, to recharge and rest. May this new solar year bring blessings of all sorts to your life and writing.
I bet Little Fawn would be awed by luminarias if you wanted to put a few on a porch or deck and let her help you light them, and then she could watch the magic as the tiny flames cast their pool of light, calling back the sun.
Sus, what a beautiful winter ritual and blessing. I love the way this pathway of light leads to your door, a celebration for the returning of the light. Happy Solstice.
That's my new front pathway (I don't have a sidewalk). It's not finished, but I'm already loving its curving shape. Happy Winter Solstice and much knee-healing energy to you!
Thank you, Jenny! I think of Solstice as stretching over several days, because the sun really does appear to stand still in its movement on the horizon for several days, before beginning its apparent journey in the other direction again. So you're not late at all! Winter blessings and much grace to you in this sacred time.
May the words and the candlelight bring you blessings of all sorts, and may the darkness ease for all of us in the coming months!
😍🌏❤️
I love lighting the darkness! Solstice blessings to you, Stephanie. :)
Very welcoming
They're especially beautiful at dawn the next morning, still burning, welcoming back the light. Happy Solstice, Jerry!
Blessings to you, as well, Susan❣️ A beautiful tradition. When I lived in Santa Fe we called those farolitos or bagolitas 😅 The larger pyres were called luminarias. They were made of limbs about 4 feet long and arranged like a teepee for burning. I know you've been to NM! Thank you for including us here. Amazing sunset there and here in northern AZ 🏜️
Thank you for those blessings! I lived in Santa Fe for 4 years, so I know they're called farolitos and bagolitas there, but I lived in southern NM for longer, and there they're called luminarias. So I stick with the name I learned first--tradition, I guess. Glad you saw that great sunset in northern AZ too. Did you see the new moon? It was glorious here.
Light the way.
Big hugs to you, Jeanne. Many blessings as the Northern Hemisphere turns back to the light. xo
Beautiful tradition, Susan. No snow there?
Thanks, Sue. Nope, no snow. It's been warm, warm, warm and dry. Our snowpack started off well with two storms in late November and early December, and then the temps warmed into the upper 40s and low 50s. Way too warm for this time of year. We're hoping for snow in a few days, but as it stands, things look grim. I purely hate climate change.
I have such fond memories of your luminaria lightings when we both lived in Salida. It is a beautiful tradition.
And of course, there was the Richard-sized party (meaning large and loud) that went with the luminaria lighting too. :)
Lovely lovely!
Thank you, Jeanne, and many Solstice blessings to you!
Thanks for sharing this luminous offering Susan, and what a spectacular sunset. The luminarias feel like both blessing and practice—small, steady lights that don’t banish the darkness, but companion it. I’m grateful for the reminder that tending light can be simple, local, and rooted right where we stand. Solstice blessings to you and to that beautiful valley holding your home.
Thank you, Camilla! I hadn't thought of the luminarias as a practice because I only make them once a year, but they really are a spiritual practice for me. I create them specifically for Winter Solstice, and in past years, I always had a party and invited folks to help me light them. When Richard, my late husband was alive, we lined our whole half-block with several hundred luminarias. The folding and filling of bags, placing the candles and lighting them was a big ritual, and because he loved a big party, we invited a hundred or so friends to join us and then stay for the homemade eggnog I make. Those parties were legendary in the small town where we lived, and while I don't miss the crowds and the work involved, I am looking forward to next year when my yard isn't all torn up and I can have a few people over to help me light the darkness in my own way with a smaller celebration! Blessings to you.
Susan, thank you so much for sharing this—what a beautiful lineage of light and love you’re carrying forward. It’s moving to hear how the luminarias held community, celebration, and Richard’s joy for gathering, and how that ritual has gently transformed with time and loss. There’s something so wise in letting the practice change scale while keeping its heart intact. I love the image of a smaller circle next year, lighting the darkness together in a way that fits this season of life. Blessings to you as you carry this ritual onward, tenderly and true.
Thanks for understanding, Camilla. You are right about keeping the heart of the luminaria ritual intact. It lifts my heart to see these tiny candles nestled on a scoop of sand in a fragile paper bag burning all night long, and greeting the dawn the next morning, lighting the darkness to remind us all that the light does return. Every time. May we all find our own ways to light the darkness in these times!
Susan I wasn't familiar with the practice of lighting luminaries until you wrote about them. You and Richard were going to light them - it might have been when you did them down the block. So on solstice, I assembled the necessary materials and bordered both sides of the walkway to our house. It was cold out, but that only added to the magic. The stillness and light were unique and special and I thought of you and Richard far away doing the same. It was transcendent. David, my late hubbs, remembered them from Chile where he grew up (his grandparents started a mission continued by his parents.) I've thought of you and your luminarias often at solstice. May the light within glow and grow enlightening the stillness of being. Blessings on you and your journey always, Susan.
Mary, Luminarias (the real kind, not the electric ones) have been part of my winter holiday celebrations for so long that I had to think back to where I first learned them. Molly was in band and orchestra when we moved to Las Cruces, and their winter fundraiser was selling luminarias by the hundreds. Each band kid had to prepare 250 luminaria bags (fold over the end of the bag to hold it open once it got two cups of sand and a votive candle). So you can guess who spent her evenings folding luminaria bags! Seeing hundreds of luminarias all lit on the same evening in our neighborhood, all of those little candles in their paper bags lighting the darkness made a powerful impression on me. So I adapted the tradition to winter solstice and have assembled and lit luminarias every solstice since! (Which would be 35 solstices now.) How wonderful that David knew the tradition from his growing up in Chile! It's the Christmas Eve thing throughout the Hispanic Catholic world. Many blessings to you!
So lovely, Susan! A beautiful tradition. Thank you for sharing, and Happy Solstice.
Thanks, Mary. They're so beautiful at dawn, those tiny flames calling back the light. Solstice blessings and a warm hug to you, too.
This dark time is a renewal, and has been for millennia. I am grateful to have met you. Sending love and hugs and — it will come again — light.💛
Mary, I have always loved the dark time for just that: time to slow down and reflect, to recharge and rest. May this new solar year bring blessings of all sorts to your life and writing.
Beautiful sunset, beautiful tradition. Happy Winter Solstice, sending best wishes to you Susan for a happy new day when dawn breaks!
Thank you, Penny! Blessings and good wishes to you, too, in this new solar year.
Susan, I think of you and your luminarias every winter solstice. Thank you for allowing us to be present with you as you bring light.
Linda, I am so touched by that! May the returning light bless us all. Enjoy your Northern Prairie winter. :)
I was thinking about your luminarias yesterday. And now here they are!
I bet Little Fawn would be awed by luminarias if you wanted to put a few on a porch or deck and let her help you light them, and then she could watch the magic as the tiny flames cast their pool of light, calling back the sun.
Beautiful ❤️
Thank you, Trevy! Blessings of the new solar year to you!
Sus, what a beautiful winter ritual and blessing. I love the way this pathway of light leads to your door, a celebration for the returning of the light. Happy Solstice.
That's my new front pathway (I don't have a sidewalk). It's not finished, but I'm already loving its curving shape. Happy Winter Solstice and much knee-healing energy to you!
Blessings to you, too! Thank you for the light.
May the new solar year bring light in all areas of your life, Christina. And may your writing open new doors. Sending hugs your way....