Another year passes, another midnight on Christmas Eve, in what threatens to become an annual tradition. Again, the coldness of the evening, the cool, moist hives, my warm ear lowered gingerly to a cold, damp hive, listening to the solstice bee carols, the timeless melody that sounds like the purring of something, wild and eternal. . . . Sure beats listening for hooves, bells, and heavy steps on the rooftop.