Winter, the blustery brother of Autumn brings the sound and it’s a faint jingling of course!
Misted breath wreathes the ice-cold silence of the night. Nothing moves except for the frosted flurries
gently blow the icy cobwebs, encouraging the raging torrent of imagination.
That pleasing crunch of virgin snow underfoot, intruding on the quiet. The footprint left behind looking phantasmal under the ice kissed glow of the street lamp.The crisp air pressing on red cheeks, wraps the pilgrim in happiness, like gifts under the tree.
Alone but happy, shivering in glacial temperatures, heading home, It’s hot work walking, windows passed are lit with tiny glittering points of joy. Offering an inviting glimpse into the magic of the season.
All is peaceful as it should be for the traveller, making his way home for Christmas.