Last Monday morning, the door-knocker rat-tatted in Greenwich, and after some manoeuvring I propped Jonathan’s Christmas tree against the wall in the back garden, waiting for this weekend when he would decorate it.
This past Friday morning, he sent a photo (above, shamelessly stolen) of some of the old, white enamelled letters, found in a junk shop, which will decorate it. The letters spell NOEL. A cat shows obvious interest and delight.
Yesterday morning, I awoke to a quiet, empty house and what I will call frost-light — a promising brightness beyond the curtains and cold air — and found that everything in the garden and the street was coated with hoar frost. It didn’t disappear all day.
This morning, I awoke to more of the same. The bin lid is firmly frozen shut. Footsteps across the garden make tiny high-pitched noises as frost is compacted underfoot. The wooden garden table’s surface looks rather like a dark smooth cake dusted with icing. Coffee steams more thickly amd vigorously than ever in colder, crisper air. The bright, distant sound of a church bell somehow travels at least a mile. And there is a new recipe for a Christmas cake in the Sunday paper.
These are little things, but wonderful. They make me smile and feel excited. I just thought someone should know. :o)
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