Advent

There is a pleasing austerity to this time of year, a bleakness, that I find energising.  I love the cold and relish low temperatures, and will check the outdoor thermometer for lower and lower temperatures.  As I wrote in the Spring Journal, I have no faith in cold as old people have no faith in heat.  I love the thought of the cold wind whistling through bare thorn hedges, the light fading early, the sky darkening.  As we left Presteigne the lamps were being lit; golden rooms making the grey evening darker and more lonely.

This physical austerity is linked to the intellectual austerity of Advent, the willing denial in expectation of riches.  And I feel this the more strongly in contrast with the shopping glitz of Christmas; hot shiny shops in opposition to dusk in grey cold hedges.