My sherry wham-of-light, my swaddled soul, December baby. Hush, for it is chill and dark, so dark. And it will grow darker still. Uh-huh, lul. It's like the void of the Universe. Uh-huh. We must embark directly, I think, lul. Bring an orange as the toll for Charon: he will be our gondolier. Upon the shore, the season pans for light, and solstice fish, their eyes gone milky white, come bearing riches for the dying year: solstitial kingdom. It is yours, the mime of branches and the drift of snow. With shaking hands, Persephone, the winter's wife, will tender you a gift. A gift which can and will give you life for ever. Born in a time of darkness, you will learn the trick of making. You shall make your consolation all your life. The Universe is on the outside of this summit kingdom as well as the inside. Uh-huh. Alpha and Omega. Spring and Winter. First and Infinity. Everything gets clear. Suddenly, it is cristal clear. All the elements, the water and air and fire and earth in the kingdom are sparkling clean and sound. A search for symbolism can harass a simple thing beyond its power to mean. The meaning of everything and nothing at the same time. The thing of this insight is on the outside as well as the inside of this Universe and nothing can rush from it.