DISPATCHES FROM THE LAND OF CHRISTMAS, PART ONE: Warm and happy holidays to all of our readers from the Arctic Circle, where my wife and I are spending a cozy and idyllic log-cabin Christmas with my in-laws, author Judy Kleinfeld and judge Andrew Kleinfeld, along with their huge number of furry quadrapeds! Nearby us is the North Pole (no, the real North Pole), and I can report that today, during the brief stint of polychromatic snowy daylight, it actually warmed up to a balmy 20 degrees below. I'll be doing a fair bit of holiday blogging this week from here in the land of Christmas, with despatches on dog mushing (a process in which, I should quickly note, no dogs actually become mushed), late-night aurora borealis, Eskimos, and the distinctive local characters to be found up here inhabiting log cabins in Seward's folly.

First, though, a few wintry-themed quotations for Christmas Eve, ranging from the jocular to the profound. Happy Christmas Eve, and enjoy!

Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm,
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!

- Ezra Pound, Ancient Music (l. 1–4). The Selected Poems of Ezra Pound. (1957) (a waggish take, if you didn't get it, on the Middle English ballad, "Summer Is Icummen In, Llude Sing Cuckoo.)

In winter we lead a more inward life. Our hearts are warm and cheery, like cottages under drifts, whose windows and doors are half concealed, but from whose chimneys the smoke cheerfully ascends.... We enjoy now, not an Oriental, but a Boreal leisure, around warm stoves and fireplaces, and watch the shadow of motes in the sunbeams.

- Henry David Thoreau, “A Winter Walk” (1843), in The Writings of Henry David Thoreau, vol. 5, pp. 182-183.

The English winter—ending in July,
To recommence in August.

- Lord Byron, Don Juan, cto. 13, st. 42 (1819-1824).