While shopping this fair morn, I turned to face an aisle clad in reds and gold. Pies of mince and cakes of festal mien. I reeled back, dear reader. The Christmas Out of Time had infested another year.
But I did not quail. Rushing home, I consulted my photographic library.
Icons struck and boundaries subscribed, I set upon this place a counter-sign.
Draw strength from tradition, oh gentle reader.
Let us not go gentle into blurred time, but rather rage against the dying of the dark.