I don't normally make it a point of standing on rooftops and shouting that it's such and such a Sabbat, but being here, surrounded by fanatical, Bible-thumping Christians, I feel a need to assert myself and proclaim that it is Yule. A minor Sabbat, Yule celebrates the return of the sun. The unhappy fall I had combined with my imminent departure make Yule's symbolism particularly literal for me.
I'd also like to remind Christians that while the son was actually born in summer, it is the sun whose birth is celebrated at this time of year, misappropriations of rituals not withstanding.
"Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."