Hot tea, midwinter and poetry.
Ensconced as I am in the silver light of a near Solstice afternoon, this seems a good way of passing the time.
Outside the jewels of winter hang on the pine trees and the air is cold.
I hear the cars move slowly, cautiously along the frozen road.
A near Solstice Sunday.
Tables high and low in the cottage are decorated with green and candles, a celebration of this dark, still time.
The descent towards the Solstice continues unabated.
For a few days time will be still as the world turns and the sun completes it’s downward drift…
Willow lies cut and ready to be stacked into neat bundles for basket-making in the early Spring.
The tasks of winter continue to resonate around the cottage, calling me to do their bidding…
Low lies the sun in the winter sky.