The eve of Christmas.

frostI love the slow built crescendo towards the 25th.  It is  Christmas in all its tumescent glory, with a potent mix of anticipation and expectation. It is reminiscent of waiting for a returning lover. I always feel that folk are at their best on Christmas Eve, and fully open to savouring the moment. I don’t know when Christmas truly begins, but something special takes hold. Mulled wine wafts its incense and journeys are made to family mead halls. The air is active with pleasures to be both received and given.

As my wrinkles deepen and my hair grows greyer, Christmas Eve is about giving thanks. Mulling over a year of mornings and evenings, feeling grateful to be intact and whole at the year’s end. To love, and to be loved.  More than ever I appreciate the joy and peace of downing tools and seeing friends and family. That is the greatest gift for me. Time, calmness and company, at the turning tide of the year.

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