Winter Nights It is nearing midnight and a crisp Autumn wind chills the air. She clutches her wrap tightly and, though her old joints creak in protest, she presses forward.  Her destination is not much farther. Just beyond the Oaks along the wooded path – thirteen feet at most. The forest floor is thick with moss and cushions her footsteps. She reaches the sacred mound, shakes out a thick blanket and pauses while listening to the howl of a lone wolf. From the corner of her eye, there is movement and light; they are here. She stands in silence, just as she had as a young girl, beside her grandmother;…