Celtic Christmas

Kernoch was soon to become a father. His unborn child was waiting to be born, sometime in the days following the solstice. Kernoch wished for a son, who would be especially blessed coming into the world at the time when the sun itself was reborn.

It was the night before the solstice and he was on the hill above his village. Snow lay deep around him as he stood his watch, for wild beasts and marauders, like all the young married men of his kin did in their turn.

In the flickering firelight below, he knew that his wife was with the old women and that all of them would now be dressing the Yule tree. This they did to honour the Mother Goddess, and all the dead of the previous year.

He thought a while of friends who were gone, some lost when hunting, some in battle-skirmishes with neighbouring tribes. He imagined the tree in the fire’s light, reflecting the flames in the decorations – the sun and moon shapes, the bright stars, all wrought in silver metal or from crystal fragments.

The stars above him were as bright. The one that some called the hunter or the horned man was clear and still. There were deer and hounds and horses in these stars. But Kernoch decided to name them for himself. One for his own heart and for this he took the north star itself. One he chose for his wife, the bright one at the hunter’s heels for her, and he chose it for its strength and for how it twinkled low in the heavens. He chose others for his lost friends. These were in a cluster above the hunter’s upraised left arm. He chose them for they were hard to see straight on but were cleared seen out of the corner of his eye. Like memories of the departed.

He chose one for his child, the son he hoped for. He chose the stars of the little bear. And he did so because his own star was part of its shape. He spoke aloud to the sky and the child to be. His breath steamed in the night air.

“My son, come into this world with the Sun child. May he guide you and bring you gifts. My son, let the Great Mother hold your heart as it grows so that you learn wisdom. My son, let Cernunnos give you the eyes and ears of a hunter.

“My son to be, may the waxing season draw you to us. Let the stars carry you through the night for they are all our fathers and mothers who are gone.”

The aurora was shimmering blue and green in the north sky between his outstretched arms. He could feel the air alive with the flame of it. In the village below he heard a ripple of excitement, like a river of voices. The women’s were mingled with it. He saw figures running and one came from the firelight to run up the hill towards him. A voice, seeming so far off, called his name. “Kernoch!” The child was coming.