The Long run of Winter  #WinterSolstice #winter #dark #light #December #short #Christmas #climate #festive #calendar 

Today, 21st December, is the shortest day of the year in the U.K. – known on the calendar year as The Winter Solstice.

In Hastings, East Sussex the sun will rise wearily at 07.58 and set quickly at 15.53.  

If it is a grey day (& it is) it’ll seem exceptionally short, and the light will be poor and bland, if it is sunny (maybe tomorrow) make the most of the rays as a lack of sunshine, especially around the Christmas period, can make you feel very low. 

On the positive side, the shortest day of the year will now give way to a gradual lengthening of days. This means that the cloudy, misty, oppressive days will become longer ones, so even more reason to grab the sun when it rises and shines. 

A short pre-Christmas day is best spent enjoying the colour of the festive lights, fiddling with wrapping paper and sticky, pretty bits of string, reaching for a spicy, warm mulled wine and filling the house with scents of cinnamon & orange and roast potatoes. There are lovely ways to spend this seasonal month and many pleasures to gain from living the cycle of a temperate climate, even in those darker days.
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Paths of Autumn  #poetry #Autumn #OnThisDay

American poet, Henry Van Dyke was born on this day, 10th November 1852 (died, 10th April 1933).
I recently discovered a seasonally-fitting, romantic poem by this man entitled:

‘Autumn in the garden’

‘When the frosty kiss of Autumn in the dark

Makes it mark

On the flowers and the misty morning grieves

Over fallen leaves…’


He imagines himself, on an autumn day, walking around his garden and along the paths once paced, traced, and wandered by previous generations; their thoughts and feelings, their struggles and strife as they dealt with own lives, treading these same paths.  

There is the sense of passing and of grief; of patience, sadness and sorrow, all delicately enhanced by the imagery of Autumn. The season in which the trees renounce their brown leaves and the naked flowers give their bodies to the earth, enriching the soil.
My favourite lines come at the end, after a gentle, contemplative stroll through the garden with him…


‘Let us walk in the garden, dearest heart
Not apart!

They who know the sorrows other lives have known

Never walk alone.’ 

Perfect.  

After Autumn, and Winter, we shall have the re-awakening, new life and hope of Spring.  

For now we have the vibrant-leaf colours, the moist clouds and damp earthiness of Nature’s cycle.

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Enchanted Castles #castles #poetry #travel

Fairytales may well be exaggerated and magical distortions of the sensible and practical truth but…

Knights of the realm, fair maidens, damsels in distress, valiant heroes, brave warriors, honourable citizens, villainous invaders, victorious intruders, are all part of the rich history of life, in all its many forms; figures from the past merge into the people of today.

Here, on a forested valley, sits a perfectly peaceful castle, steeped in mystery, and inquisitive questioning, and full of many possible and impossible imaginations…

Far, far away, then reachable; pungently powerful in the daylight, then disappearing at night; soft and mellow like a child’s sandcastle then fortified, strong and sharp like a gentleman’s brandy; sometimes imperious, foreboding and stern then vulnerable, touchable and tame; teetering on the edge, ready to crumble to dust, or basking in the might of centuries of vigorous invincibility.

How encouraging to be conquering the adventurous journey of the world’s road with a little fairy magic

“Some enchanted evening, you may see a stranger,
You may see a stranger, across a crowded room.”

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‘I must go down to the seas again’

On departing London’s Charing Cross by train to Hastings, East Sussex who cannot help but think of this compelling line ‘I must go down to the seas again…!’
How lovely – a deep breath of salty sea air, a wet breeze, some dozy clouds & the tide tirelessly lapping on the beach. The seashore is a timeless, evocative & ancient old place to cast off your woes & to make new wishes.
John Masefield’s (1st June 1878- 12th May 1967) poem ‘Sea Fever’ captures every worldly imagination of the seas – ‘a grey mist on the sea’s face’ ‘the white clouds flying’ ‘the flung spray’ ‘the blown spume’ ‘the call of the running tide’ ‘the seagulls crying.’ This poem is every schoolboy’s favourite & every grown man’s old romance.
On our Island nation ‘Sea Fever’ is all around us – get out, see it and live these lines!