Christmas Day

We have kept a quiet Christmas.  Good food that all worked, good presents, the family.  The essence of the season lies for me in small moments, whether sharing presents and food or watching a small window of coloured lights a hundred and fifty yards away in total darkness.  I love the idea of gentle lights illuminating a cold room; a candelabra from IKEA the sole light in the kitchen, presiding benignly over the ruins of the Christmas table, or a failing fibre-optic lamp on the half-landing, barely able to flash red/blue/green into the night, lights only visible in total darkness.   The valley lights are clearer because of the bare trees and one of the farms across the valley has an enormous lit up Christmas tree, a pale golden giant.  But from our lane in the darkness it is a tiny shape against the dark hillside.  Another moment on the landing this evening; the bare ash trees in the courtyard lit softly - ambiently, passively, accidentally - by the lights of Michael's kitchen.  X-ray trees, ghostly grey, motionless, the epitome of simple light moments, calm and peaceful.

Christmas is a secular festival with religious roots, like Easter and Halloween.  I have been wishing people 'a lovely Christmas' as this year it seems a gentle sincere phrase replete with kindness and good cheer.  I have no idea how many people if any read these words, but whatever your faith or none-faith I hope that you have a lovely Christmas and a happy New Year.