Yet with autumn’s beauty comes the early dark. Long before electricity, this season meant a growing, almost sentient night. To the ancients, twilight was not merely the end of the day, it was a threshold. Fires were kindled, shutters were drawn, and people whispered stories to keep the shadows at bay. Today, we forget what it means to live on the edge of the dark. But the people of old had their own lights to guide them: the mysterious Will-o’-the-Wisp, the Hinky Punk, and th
I thought again of the stories told by those who once feared the cold more than the dark. They said that every home kept a spirit: a quiet watcher who tended the fire when no one else could.
They went by many names — Domovoi in the east, Brownie in the western isles, Tomte beneath the snowbound rafters of the north.
