At this time of year, day seems to last but a moment. Mornings are inked skies pricked with stars and the bloom of ghostly streetlights. Evenings fall without warning: look out of a window and the light has gone, before you can prepare yourself for it. Inside, there is always a sepia tone to the daylight and never quite enough of it. The darkness seems somehow thicker, as though I could taste it. In the lighter half of the year, I revel in morning’s expectancy, but in this season, my body shrinks from stirring before dawn.
The first snow rides the coat-tails of a blazing sunrise in the last week of November. Fat flakes tumble and melt into nothing. A few days later it returns, a jumble of soft wafers, stinging hail and rain, leaving a crisp coating in its wake. It lasts a night then is gone and later in the week the sun is bright, the light almost spring-like. Now paths are rimed with ice, but some of the leaves are still hanging on. One of the three wild cherries in the park always blazes last, vibrant against heavy frost or first snow, and this year is no exception.
November passed in a flash of spectacular sunrises and sunsets. The sky bled colour: crimsons, lavenders, oranges and yellows at either end of short, grey days. I remember little else. Between obligations at work and home there hasn’t been much time for walking or dreaming. I haven’t connected with that deep, fertile vein of darkness. My box of dreams is woefully empty.
But some days seem to contain magic from the start. Waking to a shiver of frost, I stumble out into a Sunday morning that freezes the bones. I’m walking with my dog to my mother in law’s new bungalow and there, on a scrub of grass next to the Metro station a shape catches my attention. A fox, ruddy against frosted grass. It is 11.30 in the morning and he sits, unconcerned, as the trains trundle by above and we watch him. He meanders along the grass, then sits again. Reluctantly, I turn away, thrilled at the encounter.
The ground is littered with leaves, still green, that have shivered from the trees in the cold. I can hear them crackle, like teeth chattering. Six geese glide silently against a moody sky with a spit of snow in it. Later, we visit the Christmas market in the old Victorian square and on the way, the snow begins again. We wander around the carol-filled square as the light fades and snow falls and by the time we get home, the ground is covered in white.
December brings a level of peace. Fewer obligations, more space for visiting with the earth. The snow has melted away and left a frozen landscape in its wake. A landscape that is still. A landscape that waits. On the winter solstice, there will be a birthday celebration. Not for me, but for the sun itself. For the earth that is reborn after the longest night. It will be many weeks before the spring light comes, and that is just as well, I’m not ready to emerge from the darkness yet. I have dreaming to catch up on.
To me it seems like winter cane out of nowhere. One day I’m walking around in unseasonably warm autumn weather, the next I’m bundled up trudging through snow. I suppose that could be a metaphor for life. And the beauty is, spring will always come.
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I agree, autumn seemed milder for much longer this year and suddenly a ‘proper’ winter arrives.
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Beautiful winter post, Andrea 🙂
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Thank you Irene.
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Another lovely post. Glad you had the chance to write. Yesterday, I was driving back from Washington, DC to Charlottesville down Route 20 and saw large bird standing imperiously by the side of the road. As I drove closer, I realized it was a huge hawk, the white feathers on his thighs glistening like knee breeches from the late 18th century. He stared defiantly at me as if daring me to stop, his carrion momentarily forgotten. I wished I had stopped to take his picture. I figure he must be a spirit left over from the American Revolution, maybe a Hessian soldier who was POW in the barracks near Charlottesville.
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Thanks Pat – there are so many moments that happen when I don’t have my camera – like the fox, but I wonder if those are particularly special because we can only remember them in our minds – your hawk sounds spectacular and like one of those moments.
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‘My box of dreams is woefully empty.’
It doesn’t snow in this corner of the planet. But days do shrivel into dark, ash-like berries. Wherefore my box of dreams is empty too? Why I am moved so deeply with what you did not say?
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Lovely image of the ‘ash-like berries’ Uma. I’m happy that you can see that there are unspoken words beyond the spoken ones!
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As always, the eloquence of your writing is something I enjoy so much! To the point of when I see the email announcing your new post, I get quite excited! I was not disappointed. Your photos tell of a journey, as much as your words do, and it is fascinating to hear the similarities and differences from the seasonal experience that is going on here, across an ocean. Thank you.
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That’s lovely of you to say, thank you Madeleine
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You capture that fleeting sense of the winter day so powerfully Andrea – I loved reading this, thank you 🙂
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Thank you Kylie 🙂
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Andrea, this is a deliciously deep and rich post, leaving a taste in my mouth like the best chocolate. I, too am settling into dreaming, and will relish the dark.
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Thank you Michael, I hope your dreams are wonderful.
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I once did a great deal of hiking in the mountains, always alone because,well, my friends just didn’t find the beauty and peace in the woods that I found. If this were forty years ago,and I was preparing for another long hike, I would ask you to come along. You understand!
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Thanks Bill, I’d be happy to accompany you 🙂
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Poetic and evocative post Andrea. I feel like I just took a refreshing walk with you and started soaking the beauty of the quiet, dark days of winter with hidden pockets of beauty if we slow down to find them.
Happy Holidays!
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Thanks Brad and Happy Holidays to you!
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Thanks!
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Our weather has been unbearably cold one day then tolerable the next. Winter has always seemed endless to me, so I’m hunkering down and hoping for an early spring. Love your photographs!
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I hope you have a cosy winter Jill and that spring comes as soon as you wish 🙂
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One of the gifts of having a dog is that, regardless of the weather, we go for a walk. And, as you so beautiful describe, we end up admiring nature’s details.
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Definitely, I wouldn’t discover so much of what I discover if it wasn’t for him.
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Hoping you emerge from winter with your box of dreams filled again. Enjoy the frozen world in the meantime.
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Thanks Susanne.
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I, too, have ‘dreaming to catch up on’…love that, Andrea.
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Sweet dreams Laura!
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“more space for visiting with the earth.” And with ourself. Lovely, Andrea.
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Thanks Diana.
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I wish you well in your solstice dream time, Andrea. This winter, the thought of heading for bed early is utterly seductive. Longer night time sleeps and vivid dreams, after walking yet again too long and too late, then staggering home through the frozen lanes in slippery wellies, to fall deeply asleep on the sofa.
Time has shifted again…
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That sounds heavenly Rachael, I wish you many more of those too long walks and long sleeps.
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The sunsets and sunrises have been particularly spectacular this fall! We are waiting breathlessly here for snow, but I think it will come after this week. My head, as of this weekend, has decided it’s time to make serious progress on my book so I have no doubt that dream-box of yours will be overflowing soon! You know, something about the image of that frosted tree trunk puts me in mind of some forbidding mountain, with passes cut into the icy stone where one might make one’s perilous way up in pursuit of some impossible treasure… Or I might just read too much fantasy. 🙂
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There’s definitely something fantastical about it – it reminds me of a Totem pole. I hope the book goes well and that you get lots of inspiring snow 🙂
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Andrea, it’s lovely to read a post praising the beautiful and peaceful aspects of this season, rather than listening to people moaning about the commercialism and tension leading up to Christmas and, as always, you’ve written it so beautifully. I start to get excited round about now, knowing that the shortest day will soon be here and I can dream of all the spring bulbs that will be flowering in my garden. But, for now, I will just enjoy the beauty that this season has to offer.
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Thanks Lesley, I try to see the magic and not worry about the rest!
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Nice post, Andrea, I always enjoy reading your words. Hibernation is a lovely, snuggle-down, comfy chair time, isn’t it? Half-lazy, mostly restorative, catch-up-on-sleep part of the year that I embrace.
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Thanks Eliza, just the way it should be 🙂
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What is it about a dusting of white and the quiet of winter that has such a different, magical quality? You’ve captured it so well, as usual.
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It doesn’t matter how many times I see snow, there’s always magic in it.
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Beautifully evocative of winter and the darkening days. Hope the solstice will bring you the connection with the darkness you need for dreaming.
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Thank you, I hope it will.
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You’ve beaten me to it! I’ve been planning a post on the same theme after Christmas. Here’s wishing you some very positive dreaming during the cold weather. You need it in your cold northern climes. Happiiy we have had no snow down here in West Sussex.
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I’ll look forward to your take on it Richard. It seems we’ve had less snow up here than in some places further south and we’re heading for a mild Christmas by all accounts, but I do enjoy when winter feels like winter, and if not snow, then at least frost, which we’ve had plenty of.
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I agree that one of the best things about winter is that we get unexpected treats, like the bright fox or that moment when the sun hits little snow crystals just right and creates a kind of rainbow. I saw the sun glittering off the wings of snow geese the other day and it stopped me in my tracks. Beautiful post!
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That sounds beautiful, the sparkle on the wings of geese – like a poem in itself.
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Oh, this is exquisite. I’m reading your post while it snows. The flakes simply tumble through the air. Perfect setting for writing, at least, in my opinion. Spotting a fox is magical in its own right, so even though you haven’t been able to do much dreaming, the dreams are happening all around you. 🙂 Merry Christmas!
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Thanks Kate, I’m so glad you have the right atmosphere for reading this – all our snow is now gone, though we still have wintry weather in which to dream 🙂 Merry Christmas to you too.
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We had a glorious fall this year, so I don’t mind winter’s advent as much. Time seems to fly by so quickly lately anyway.
Nice post, Andrea.Thanks for taking us along. 🙂
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The year seems to have flown past this year Jennifer, wishing you a good winter.
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Lovely. It appears that our weather has been similar to yours, so far. Nothing too drastic, although some frigid days. Stay warm and keep dreaming. 🙂
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Thanks Lori, and you too 🙂
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This is lovely, Andrea. Sweet dreams before long.
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Thanks Ina.
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A lovely tribute to December, dear Andrea. I could almost see that fox, the way you described him/her. And I can see that while it’s been a demanding time for you, you have your finger on the pulse of it. You are mindful of both what you have been missing and what you are going through. It’s when we get so caught up or swept away without knowing that we have a problem, methinks.
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Thanks Cynthia, yes and time to slow down and appreciate the slowing down now 🙂
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I love the way you have painted northern winter, Andrea. For the ojibwe, it was the time for storytelling as people huddled about the central fire.
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Thank you Carol, winter definitely seems made for stories.
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A post of many layers, Andrea. Of longing for answers in the thick of winter, in its blackness and white snowy beauty. Of dreams still to be revealed.
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Thank you Annika and your dream, your book, is now out there in the world 🙂
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Andrea, it has been so nice sitting here with a cup of Rosie, nice and warm, and reflecting on the snow. (Now vanished). Without a shadow of doubt, snow brings beauty to our lives, seeing a Blackbird land on the garden fence in a explosion of white powder, the male Bullfinch foraging for food in the bare hedge.
It also brings hardship and difficulty, can’t have our cake and eat it can we.
Your post was most enjoyable (as always) and for me, it emphasized the need to balance the enjoyment and pleasure of seeing a fresh fall of snow, with help, for our feathered friends.
Merry Christmas
Mick.
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Thanks Mick, yes, I think we can possibly appreciate its magic so much more because we don’t have those long harsh winters where the snow never stops! But I never fail to see the beauty in it. I felt ever so guilty the other day when I walked to the pond and scores of ducks came sliding towards me over the ice obviously hoping for a tidbit, of course I didn’t have a thing for them…
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Andrea, I continue to marvel at your gift with words. I’m happy that you saw the fox. That had to be a magical moment. Keep dreaming.
Sweet dreams.
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Thank you Teagan ❤
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Beautiful! The words, the photographs and the pictures in my mind they conjure up! Thank-you for your magical posts, Andrea – they always brighten my day.
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Thanks Clare, I’m happy to hear that!
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As ever a blog post to warm my heart! Absolutely fantastic! A bit of snow really does stir the heart and I love the way you see nature and the land and how vital a link it plays in our consciousness. Let the darkness stay a while longer, it deserves our attention.
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Thanks Ste, I’ll be so interested to see how you settle in to your new landscape 🙂
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Reading this post was like a journey through a fairy tale…you express it so well Andrea, that it’s easy to experience the cold, the darkness, the beauty of the winter land, miles away. And the pictures simply add to your lovely writing. Felt like I’ve seen all the seasons you’ve experienced, thanks to your vivid descriptions.
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Thank you Smith for your kind comments, I’m happy to have you along for the walk 🙂
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☺I so wish Andrea but until then your writing transports me to your land.
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Sweet dreams to you, Andrea, as the frozen landscape urges us to stay inside, to not ‘shrink from stirring’ outside, to rest and mediate and wait for the arrival of the goddess: Sun. Happy Solstice to you.
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Thank you Pam and season’s greetings to you too.
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I am walking the frosty ground with you, leaves crunching under my feet. Some of your lovely photographs could easily be a stone’s throw from where I live. I have seen early morning foxes – small and beautiful miracles. Your portrayal of the short days, changed light, and mornings that come too early is so familiar, yet new with your words. Perhaps like you, I cannot bear to get up when there’s a “5 something” on my clock. Happy Solstice.
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Jeanne, my apologies, I don’t know how I missed this comment, but I’m glad you came along on the journey with me.
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Beautiful post Andrea … I just love the last few sentences. Winter dreaming …
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Thank you Julie.
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So glad you got to see your fox and in the daytime too! What a treat!
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It was Vicky 🙂
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Beautiful Andrea. I wish we could have had snow, but we did have lost of lovely frost before it got milder again. I’ve missed your posts, thank you so much for staying with me at the Summerhouse during this rather bleak blogging year (for me). Happy Christmas to you my friend, see you in 2018 🙂 xxx
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Thanks Sherri, wishing you a wonderful Christmas too 🙂
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Thanks Andrea – and Happy New Year to you! xxx
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Hmm … I wrote a comment, and I bet I hit return – or nothing – instead of “Post comment”! In any event, thank you for this lovely post – the light frosting of snow always makes everything look just a little bit more wonderful. I love the image of what seems to be some formation of old, weathered wood or pilings. It’s all in waiting, indeed. Happy Solstice, Christmas, Everything!
Jeanne
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Thanks Jeanne and Happy Holidays to you 🙂
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I think your November was much colder than mine was, Andrea, not that I was out of doors much, being submerged in an intensive novel-write that month. I remember spending two mornings at the allotment, one in November and the other at the beginning of December. On both occasions it was so warm that I didn’t need to wear a coat. It’s amazing how much difference it can make, living just over three hundred miles south of you! It’s Boxing Day as I write this comment to your post, and a very squally, grey day, with the seagulls having created quite a rumpus around midday. Now it is pitch black outside, and all I can hear is the wind moaning in the trees. It makes the house seem very cosy in contrast. Wishing you a belated Merry Christmas 🙂
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I love that diversity we have on this small island Sarah! Yes, it does feel as though we had a properly wintry November – a little snow and plenty of frost – which we seem to have seen less of in recent years. But there has also been mildness too, with plants still lush and the mosses seem to have had a field day – Christmas was very mild but it’s turned icy now here, though our wind has died down. Hoping you enjoy the rest of the holidays Sarah 🙂
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‘I have dreaming to catch up on.’ Beautiful. Keep dreaming and keep writing such lovely pieces for us!
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Thanks Jaya.
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Enjoy the descriptions of the weather from both your post, Andrea, and also Sarah Potter’s. Southern California has had fierce dry winds for several weeks on and off, resulting in devastating fires. It is the worst weather that we have, at least for me. My 91-year-old father-in-law and his caregiver had to evacuate for two nights as the fire came too close for comfort, though all was fine when they returned. I’m fascinated with the weather, no matter where!
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I’m so sorry to hear about the fires – and wasn’t the drought coming to an end? I’m glad that everything was fine in the end for your father-in-law, but it must have been very distressing at the time. Maybe you’re an honorary Englishwoman, we always like to talk about the weather!
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The drought conditions have ceased somewhat, but in the fall and winter, we get what are called the “Santa Ana” winds, and they make everything extremely dry. We are actually a desert re-made into a suburban and green region, but the desert prevails most often!
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I hope you all stay safe Carla and that the new year brings calmer conditions.
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Thank you, Andrea! So far, so good.
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I’m long after the event having read this before and after your other posts… I savour them all, and love your pictures… I treasure your evocation of winter.. the atmosphere of winter, and autumn too, ravish my heart… there is so much mystery and such subtle messages to be heard and felt… loved your Christmas post…
As a frequently homesick Englishwoman, – homesick for the countryside and its beauty, and a way of life long gone, I treasure your writing … it brings back the magic and the mystery I always sensed as a young woman, and now miss… thank you, Andrea, and I look forward to your New Year Posts … best wishes, Valerie
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Thank you Valerie, but you’re so good yourself at giving us moments to savour! All the best to you for the coming year.
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I am late to this but oh so grateful to have read it on a dreary January day. Your words are beautiful as ever, and you capture the wonder of winter – that much-derided season – and the appeal of the dark days, so well. Happy dreaming and thank you 😊
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Thanks so much for your visit 🙂
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Just a gorgeous mix of language and imagery. Beautifully said and shown.
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Thanks Jean.
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A beautiful December post, Andrea. I find it hard to connect with the peace of winter before all the holidays are over, including New Year’s. No snow here yet, and the daffodils are up a good 5 inches now.
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Thanks Lavinia, I hope that you’re managing to get a little of that peace now.
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So you had snow before Christmas, but it was gone before Christmas, too? Gosh, I love your writing.
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Thanks Luanne, yes, no snow since!
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I find magic in snow and rain but too much of it… of anything is a spoiler.
What a magical post for the magical season that went by, Andrea. 🙂
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Thanks Norma, we’ve had a lovely snowfall today – it may well be gone by tomorrow but that is part of the magic 🙂
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Snow and rain is so magical… one moment its there and then it’s gone. But I think that’s good otherwise we’ll all be singing songs with our chattering teeth. 😉 Nature is wise. 🙂
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Very true Norma, we wouldn’t appreciate it all the time 🙂
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