Ah, the winter solstice

So, winter solstice is upon us, and we will celebrate the renewed vigour of the suns majestic beams of warmth with a freaking hullabaloo by which the opposing solstice humbles itself in the worship of zealotry as the gods of rebirth are forgotten in the summer warmth. Yes, that freaking hullabaloo in which the gods are slighted by post agrarian consumerism, but do not fear, the makers of the heavens and the earths are kindling a fire in their azure, a roast robust enough to melt the orbs off all self righteous scoffers who deny the workings of providence. Hark all ye naysayers, the second great flood is imminent, caused neither by man nor nature, but by the gods of rebirth sadly neglected by our pragmatism. Their vengeance is gaining it's momentum as the oceans rise and storm clouds burst upon us heathen transgressors, as we delight in materialistic denial.

That being said, my Christmas list has been mailed to H0H 0H0 and my chimney has been cleaned for delivery and the side table is set with milk and cookies for Santa, and I've deleted all the ignorant stuff I said during the year about our delightful Prime Minister, so I'm waiting for Christmas Eve for my brand new drone with the fancy dancy camera to forthwith document for future generations the rise of the mighty River Red into a rejuvenated Lake Agassiz arising from the storms of snow and sleet and rain of forty winters and forty summers of flooding tempests as the makers castigate our earthly adventures into consumerism. That mighty River Red which will once more flow south to leisurely impale those neighbourly zealots south of our doughty 49^th lateral which divides those who know everything from those who wish to know everything but are be too cynical to laud the vagaries of imperialism and must enjoy consumerism piggy back style.

Gods being gods, however, will snicker beguilingly as men build arks from every available buoyant nomenclature to float down along the might River Red, loaded with a pair of every living species of vegetable and beasty and hoards of plastic Chinese artifacts now redundant through lack of provocation by flooded towers and submerged turbines of the chop-chop age. And in ten thousand years when humankind is weaned from his materialistic bent and again worships the true and tried gods of presentiment with luptuous burnt offerings to appease it's makers, honour will be restored and men and gods will join in a freaking hullabaloo to veraciously celebrate the renewed vigour of the suns majestic beams of warmth.

Have a happy hullabaloo!