At the moment when dusk turns to true night:
As the last rays of the dusk finally fade, a stirring occurs in the earth in what was once the lichyard of a small, abandoned church. The ground still contained the bones of worshipers from long ago, but the church no longer played host to the living. It did, however, still act as a place of worship. The old church, now known as the Temple of the Crone, had been found and re-purposed some time ago to act as the center of worship for the local Circle of the Crone.
Tonight, the sun sinks past the horizon directly and perfectly to the west, and as it does so the stirring in the ground resolves itself into a figure. First a hand, and then an arm, and finally an entire body drags itself out of the soil. Dr. Swift, Hierophant of the Circle, pulls himself free of the soil and brushes the worst of it from his coat. He had chosen to sleep here the past day so that he could be present for the first moments of true night. Tonight was the Autumnal Equinox, and while his Circle was not large enough to celebrate in full fashion (and he wasn't certain he'd wish to do so if they could), he would observe the principles of the evening.
He spares only one glance around to see if any others had decided to try and make it in time for the beginning of the hymns, but he suspects that if anyone has, they will be arriving a bit later. After all, the timing of this rite was by far the most difficult aspect.
Standing outside, in the shade of the church itself, the Hierophant begins to sing. He is not a creative man, nor one with any particular talent for song, and so his melody is simple, childish even. The tune is possible stolen from half forgotten memories and the words are clumsy at best, but few would realize for he sings not in English, but in Greek and in Latin. He sings of the sun and of Apollo's chariot, railing against the daily scourge brought across the world. He sings of the spirits of the native land, to Father Sky for allowing the sun to traverse his world, scouring the Kindred from the face of Mother Earth each night. And he sings of the gentle Night, of Nox and of Tenebrous, pleading that they remain and fight against the day.