If ever I’m asked when is my favourite time of year I usually say autumn. Or spring. The two temperate seasons, you understand, where the temperatures are like Goldilock’s porridge: neither too hot nor yet too cold.
Then we have winter days like this, a day earlier this month when we had a combination of dense fog and a thick, white hoar-frost:
…if the secret ministry of frost,
Shall hang them up in silent icicles
Quietly shining to the quiet moon
You are ice and fire, the touch of you burns my hands like snow
There’s a certain Slant of light,
A day like that, pictures like these, words like those of Coleridge, Lowell and Dickinson… and I come to realise that truly, cruel winter is really my favourite month, when everything is glorified by rimy frost and hard cold ice leaches warmth and colour out of the world.
Whatever winter festival you celebrate, I do hope you have a happy one. Seasons greetings and blessings to you all.