Winter Solstice

(wind whooshing) In the hush of the evening, Snowville looks as though it's been tucked inside a glass snow globe. The snow is sparkling like an open geode across the ground, and the sky is covered with tiny points of starlight that seem to twinkle against the cold. Every so often, the wind sighs through the evergreens, sweeping past doorways and windows. Tonight, the town is gathering for stories, the warming of the hearth, and the quiet wonder that follows the turning of the year. Before we wander around, let's take a moment for a brief wind-down exercise. Tonight's wind down is a visualization. When you're ready, lets begin. So just take a moment to get comfortable. Letting go of the day. Enjoying that feeling of having stopped, of having nothing left to do. We are going to focus the attention of the mind on the different parts of the body, watching as the muscles in the body switch off for the night, leaving the body feeling rested and leaving the mind more at ease. So starting down at the toes, and feeling a sense of the muscles switching off. The feet, the arches, all those muscles switching off. Same in the lower half of the legs. Notice any tension being let go of as the muscles switch off, shut down. In the upper half of the legs, any tension melting away, being let go of. Into the area of the hips, the pelvis, again, any muscles, shutting down for the night. Completely at rest. Everything from the waist downward is heavy, at ease. The muscles in the lower back and the stomach are now switching off. Middle of the back around the diaphragm, the upper back, and the chest. So, any muscles not needed, shutting down, switching off for the night. The shoulders, switching off. The upper half of the arms, and the lower half of the arms, switching off. The hands, fingers, just switching off. Any muscles around the throat and the neck, switching off. The head, the face, the jaw, the eyes, any last areas of tension melting away as the muscles shut down. Switch off. At rest for the night. And allowing thoughts to come and go, allowing the mind and body the space they need to rest. Inside Little Moon Bakery, the cozy sister location to Night Town's well-known Moonrise Bakery, the overhead lights are warm and low. Near the entrance, a small wooden sign hangs in the window, stamped with the outline of a pie, and hand-painted in white letters, so passersby know where they are. The cabinets are a muted sage with round, brass knobs stacked neatly against the walls, their drawers slightly open from frequent use. Cooling racks line the window sill, ghosted with a faint mistake where the warmer air inside meets the winter night outdoors. A bowl of flour sits near the edge of the counter, as light and fine as powdered sugar. Margaret works at the central work table....