Life, crafty stuff, long walks, thoughts, and little oddities.

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Cold wind and warm fire

Bonfire night brought the cold wind with it. We huffed our way to the bonfire, steam puffing out like little dragons. Hats, gloves and scarves brought into use. Stood stomping our feet on the grass, attempting to restore feeling. Hands firmly tucked into pockets, huddled against the chill. Oohed and aahed at the explosion of light and sound above. Then, warmed by the chatter, we headed for home, and the heat of the fire.




Winter returns

The stream has overflowed on to the road. Frozen water coats the surface. Gingerly I cross, digging each step into the iron hard ground. Heavy clouds hover over the valley, silver light reflecting from the estuary. The first flakes of snow spiral down, dancing around me as I walk. Despite hat and gloves, the wind nips at my nose, and toes and fingers start to freeze. I turn for home, hoping to arrive before the storm begins in earnest.


conwy winter


January Muse

There is a curious delight

To be found

In January days

When the wind whistles round the house

Whipping the snow into a frenzy

You can stay inside

Toasting by the log fire

Watching the flakes whirl down

Or pile on hat and gloves

Pull on boots and thermals

Go out into the storm

Count snowflakes

Catch them on the palm of your hand

Stick out your tongue and hope

That one will land, ice cold,

On the tip.

Make tracks in virgin ground

Or spread-eagled angels

Build a snowman

Or hollow out a  lantern

Place a tea-light in it

And retreat inside

To admire the glow

Warming your smile

On a curiously delightful

January day.





Cherry scones and warm feet

The coldest day of the year so far. Breath visible on the icy air, we hurry home . The log fire is primed, ready to toast ourselves in the warmth. Gradually defrosting fingers and toes. A pot of tea. Warm cherry scones, with a dollop of bramble jam. An old, familiar book to hand. Comfort food to cheer body and soul.

home-made scones



Sunflowers and waiting

A bitter north wind blows around the house. Banging at windows and doors as though to seek entry. The fire in the hearth fights back defiantly, spitting up the chimney. I sit barricaded against the cold, quilt thrown over me. Hands occupied with stitching, the picture slowly forms.

A sunflower for a friend, cheery colours in the winter dusk. My mind wanders back to the summer. Sunflowers nodding their heads in the garden. Planted as part of Good Friday meditations, they took until late August to come into bloom. A period of waiting, of expectation. Of watering, care, nurture. Finally the buds were seen. They slowly opened out, blossoming in the heat. Following the sun with their faces.

Hands occupied with stitching, the picture slowly forms. Seeds planted. I wait for the coming of spring, for the blossoming. For the harvest.

cathedral sunflower

‘For I know the plans I have for you’, declares the Lord, ‘Plans to prosper you, and not to harm you, plans to give you hope, and a future.’ Jeremiah 29:11


Sleet and baubles

christmas tree

Face peeping out on the world, the only part exposed to the elements. Yesterday’s sun is replaced by cold and damp. Rain and sleet hurled on a northerly wind. The tide roars in, splashing over onto the road. A mad dash to the post office through a grey world. The gutters pour with water, and the puddles are ringed with raindrops. Then, task complete, blown back along the pavement to the warmth of home. A gradual defrosting of limbs on the radiator. A mug of tea. The Christmas tree stands, waiting impatiently. Slowly the decorations are unpacked, each one with a story to be told. Rainbow colours of memory sparkle amidst the green, a bright spot in the day.

For a Christmas Tree Blessing, see this link: http://faithinthehome.wordpress.com/2012/12/20/christmas-tree-blessing/


Open fires and toasting forks

The sunset seems early today. Closing the curtains on the dark, we settle in for the evening. Crochet hook at the ready, nimble fingers create another snowflake, while outside the frost forms. Inside the log fire blazes. We sit in the warmth. Toast for tea. I stab the slice of bread on the fork and hold it close to the fire. Gradually it browns. My face starts to glow in sympathy as I sit close to the flames. Turn the bread over. This task cannot be hurried. Slowly cook the other side. Remove from the toasting fork. Slather with butter. And eat. Bliss.