Hot Coals

The thin dust of snow covers the bare ground with a sparse white blanket. The wood on the barbecue burns with bright red and orange in the monochrome winter darkness. Out on the lake the ice has begun to lie.. a whiter crescent to the north across the water.

We are gathered, neighbours all, to celebrate. We do not see it but we trust. It has come. Midwinter.. The darkening days of autumn are behind us. Today begins the slow march to summer.

Somewhere, half a globe away they are no doubt celebrating midsummer with a barbie and a few beers. The sausages sizzle on the glowing coals. A thermos pours hot glögg. or mine - mulled wine, & home-made fairings - good crunch, but need more ginger?! The talk is of Christmas -travels - skiing in the fjälls, escaping to Morocco, with family back in England...

The Sleeper Wakens

A year has passed, and the keyboard creaks lazily to life. Winter sits with us again; the snow clinging meanly in the streets, the chill winter wind licking at the gaunt bare trees.

Christmas is coming - the goose is getting fat...