*As the seasons change, and the cold grows longer, A primal sense within your being grows stronger. Not greed, not pride, a gentle tugging that cannot hide. It isn't perfect, far from it in fact.... A rugged altar, a candle somewhat cracked, A small dresser, worn with age, The top sprinkled by herb and sage.

Hesitant and unbelieving, you light the candle, breathing a soft murmur as you wait patiently...*