The night of Tuesday, December twentieth, was the longest of the year; Wednesday morning, I joined several others at the top of Lottawatta Way to sing (and drum) up the sun, Earthaven style. As she rose, great and orange, over a mound between two ridges, we serenaded each neighborhood, beginning with the one at our feet: “Hut Hamlet, you are beautiful/Hut Hamlet, you are strong/So wonderful to be with/We’ll help you carry on/Hut Hamlet, hear our loving song.”
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