The last Yule of all

It was cold, really cold. I was alone, walking quickly by the perfect place to have it happen - Penedo da Saudade. I remember playing with my own breathe because of the vapour coming out of my mouth. I was walking fast, but my mind was, as always, far, far away, and everything was slow, flowing, just like another pre-Winter day.

All of the sudden everything changed, the pace was quick, the car stopped, faces I can recognize, really? cool! ok - I was inside, soon enough and - bang - I was with Catarina again, after months of knowing nothing of her. "Today Yule is going to be your Yule's present" she said, knowing that my present was herself, being with her again, knowing I didn't care for presents, knowing that Yule was more important than my birthday, or any birthday. There I was, heading East.

Fires and logs and chants and feast, dances and wine and joy and a bride, and faces and people, humanity, joy, it's party, the death and rebirth. When someone asks me what is magic, I recall myself of Yule.

It was the last Iberian Yule, but more than that, for me it was the last Yule of all.