Solstice: The Weaving of the Dark and Light

a poem by George McKay Brown

Winter Solstice by Android Jones

Imagine standing in total darkness, surrounded by stone walls older than the pyramids. For days, even weeks, the chamber has remained in complete blackness. But on one day—the solstice—a beam of golden light pierces the passage, striking the inner wall like a fire catching in the heart of the earth. This is Maeshowe.

Long before Christianity, the winter solstice was celebrated as a profound turning point in the seasonal cycle. For ancient peoples who lived by the natural cycles of the earth, the solstice marked the “return of the light.” It was the darkest day of the year, but also a promise: from this point forward, the days would slowly get longer. Ancient sacred sites and stoneworks like Maeshowe helped mark and celebrate the turning of the seasons and the slow return of the light. It was a natural metaphor for death and rebirth—themes that Christianity eventually folded into its own story.

When Christianity began to spread, particularly in Europe, early church leaders faced a challenge: how to convert people who were deeply rooted in their seasonal festivals and nature-based rites. Instead of banning the solstice celebrations, they blended them into Christian observance. The birth of Jesus, originally celebrated at different times of year, was eventually placed on December 25th, right around the solstice. The imagery fit perfectly. Just as the sun returns to bring warmth and light back to the world, Jesus is framed as the “light of the world,” bringing spiritual illumination and salvation.

It’s easy to see why this alignment worked so well. Celebrations of light, feasting, and the promise of renewal already existed in solstice festivals like Yule (Norse/Germanic) and Saturnalia (Roman). Christianity absorbed these celebrations, offering new meaning but retaining familiar customs.

Many of the traditions we now associate with Christmas—evergreen trees, candles, feasting, gift-giving—have roots in older solstice rituals. The church may have claimed the holiday, but the deeper, older rhythms of nature remain quietly present. It’s a powerful reminder that while our beliefs change, our connection to light and darkness, death and rebirth, endures.

aerial image of Maeshowe

The Weaving of Traditions/The Weaving of Light and Dark

The solstice is days away, and with it comes longer nights and a tendency to draw inward (unless you’ve overscheduled yourself for too many parties). A favorite solstice poem by George McKay Brown (below) weaves in the imagery of this stillness… but also flawlessly weaves in the complicated history of the solstice.

What’s fascinating about the following poem is the way Brown uses the title to say so much. The title is Maeshow: Midwinter. Maeshowe is an ancient chambered cairn tucked into the windswept Orkney Islands of Scotland. At first glance, it might just look like a grassy mound. But step inside, and you’re stepping back more than 5,000 years into a world where architecture met astronomy in a way that still leaves us in awe.

Maeshowe is famous for one striking feature: during the winter solstice, the setting sun aligns perfectly with the entrance passage, sending a beam of golden light straight down the narrow corridor to illuminate the back wall of the inner chamber. It’s ancient precision engineering.

The author of the poem hints at the ancient earthwork Maeshowe in the title but then never directly discusses it again, only to allude to it with the line “The blackness is solid as a stone that locks a tomb.” This describes Maeshowe itself, a stone tomb that remains in total darkness until the solstice flame of the sun pierces through its narrow passage. But could the author be alluding to the stone rolled over the future tomb of Jesus, even as he heralds the coming of the light?

His mention of St. Lucy is the first allusion to Christianity’s influence on the season. St. Lucy, also known as Santa Lucia, is a Christian saint associated with light, clarity, and vision—both physical and spiritual. Her feast day is celebrated on December 13th, which aligns with the period of the winter solstice in the old Julian calendar, making her story especially symbolic in terms of “bringing light to the darkness.” Her name, “Lucy,” comes from the Latin word lux, meaning “light,” which only deepens her association with illumination, clarity, and guidance in times of darkness.

Lucy’s shuttle is also interesting: A “shuttle” is a tool used in weaving to pass thread back and forth. The ‘shuttle of St. Lucy’ suggests not just a pause—like the solstice itself, a cosmic pause in the order of the universe—but a transitional moment in which darkness and light are interwoven, just as Maeshowe weaves the physical and cosmic worlds together at the solstice. Maybe it’s not just the weaving together of light and dark, but of old belief systems (pre-Christian) and newer ones (Christianity) into one cohesive fabric.

The end of the poem brings us sharply out of deep time and back to the present moment, with children laughing in the street under street lamps. The children's voices “like leaves of night” can be seen as a reminder of the early reference to autumn leaves falling (a symbol of decay, loss, and seasonal transition). Children often symbolize the “new cycle” of life at a time of symbolic death (the solstice). Their singing under a streetlamp also hints at the human tendency to create “small fires” or “small suns” (artificial light) to stave off the darkness of night and winter.

Read the poem a couple of times and notice how the imagery and symbolism lands with you. What else do you notice? What does it evoke?

Just like the ancient builders of Maeshowe, we live through seasons of darkness and light, seeking moments of illumination in shadowed places. The poem reminds us that, just as the ancient sun returns, so do moments of clarity and insight. While the world outside our doors grows dark, we light candles, streetlamps, and hearth fires—weaving the light we need from whatever threads we have.

Maeshowe: Midwinter by George McKay Brown

Equinox to Hallowmas, darkness
falls like the leaves. The
tree of the sun is stark.
On the loom of winter, shadows
gather in a web; then the
shuttle of St. Lucy makes a
pause; a dark weave
fills the loom.
The blackness is solid as a
stone that locks a tomb.
No star shines there.
Then begins the true ceremony of
the sun, when the one
last fleeting solstice flame
is caught up by a
midnight candle.
Children sing under a street
lamp, their voices like
leaves of night.

---

Sending love and hugs to everyone this holiday season. May you feel the return of the light. ✨