With just three of us on the street that night (the others were on Mull) we decided though our numbers were small, we wouldn’t be defeated. These occasions need to be marked.

Magnus built a fire in garden one. It was too windy for a pier fire. Alice cooked firepit beans and coleslaw, Archie made corn tortillas.

The night was so dark. As it should be, being the peak of winter. Every inch of the night sky looked like it had been draped in black velvet. Magnus’ fire was a funny sight. A beackon of hope.

With torches in hand and a wheelbarrow full of utensils, we crouched down, huddled around, as humans have been doing for longer than we can comprehend.

There’s something about an open fire. The warmth draws us in. It’s no longer a threat, but a friend. A provider of content.

Solstice is a turning point. A punctuation in the season, marking the turning of the scale from darker to lighter. Erraid seems to suit the winter months. Of course, the summer is fun and glorious but the winter has a bleak beauty that Scottish islands seem to excel in.

By marking solstice, however much or little fanfare, it’s the ritual that is important. We need rituals to feel anchored. We need routines to feel safe. And incredible things happen to people once they are grounded. They start to shine, like the stars in the darkest of skies. Happy solstice dear friends.