Wishbone Soup Cures Everything

Work continues on preparing the flat areas for seeding with grass and clover. We have a new routine of stopping at County Tyres to fill the van with their cast-offs, before getting to the land, unrolling one bay’s worth of weed suppressant membrane, weighing it down with one line of stinky rubber and one line of soil dug from the stony ground. By then we are overheated, feel like we’ve been dunked in vaseline, decide that will do for the day, and snort at ourselves for thinking all of this would be done in a few hours. Usually, we head home for a nap, but sometimes we have company. On this particular day, we are hosting a family picnic- the gazebo is up, some rudimentary furniture is brought from the stable, the cold box is unpacked, salad is chopped. Grandchildren 6 & 7 are here with their Mum, they are ‘helping’ which they are surprised to discover does not include rolling the tyres down the hill. Being made to attempt to recover the tyres does dampen their enthusiasm- G7 informe

Let winter be winter, be ice and fallow. Let yourself be settled, wrapped in warmth.  It need not take all of the months; it may only want a moment of your focus, that part of you that needs to seclude. Then, bring your plate to the feast. Be satiated. Feel it radiate.  Listen to your heart, listen to all of the hearts that beat and want nothing unreasonable, only to be heard.  Use the long nights to dream. This is not a luxury.  Light a candle, let yourself see from the flame to the shadow.  Ask yourself ‘Where is my hope?’  And there your feasted, rested soul begins the work.

This year again time is pressed upon by other matters such as fieldwork, family time, and getting this blooming novel writ- I was upset at the thought of not making a 2021 Yule Tale but then I looked back and there are these previous stories for avid readers to revisit, old friends to reacquaint with if you will. Some are lovely, some are silly, all are from me to you, all have hope of bringing peace and/or cheer. Whether you gobble them all up in one go or eke out the fun, your choice.  Today is the second day of calendar winter: I am sat under a duvet writing this, the window ajar to dry out damp, my head is wrapped in recycled polythene as I'm dying the grey bits green, and our elderly (though mostly sprightly) Dog has embarrassed herself causing me to now cease writing and go wash a blanket. Happy holidays xx Here are the links: The Vain Little Tree Ice In The Evergreen How The Snowdrops Bloomed The Porcupines In Winter A Slightly Parallel Cinderella Titania's Curious Other

Excerpt from the everlasting work in progress, a novel which is as yet untitled, or rather has been subject to many working title changes, none satisfactory. Having our Paddock Garden land project ongoing, having many extra shifts, and a further list of stuff that must be done, it's been a while since I wrote a serious short story. There are plenty to find on here, try searching 'Halloween Tales' if you need more :-) In this chapter, Vivia realises she has lived many lives and always gets killed by something other than old age, and she is close to finding out why. [Contains one death, nothing graphic.] Chapter 31: Vivia And The Piano At the point of death you must be thankful. Vivia is surprised by this thought. She had left the house to take a walk in the spring air which is circling through warm and cool as though it has not decided whether to give way to summer or winter. High above a pegasus has enough thermal to drift; she is watching this rare sight as the words

~Shelf-Elf Barry And The Christmas Pandemic Protocol Situation~ [cultural note: the writer is British and by jumpers she means sweaters; also custard creams are a type of biscuit] Two years had passed since Barry had almost destroyed Christmas with four accidentally overanimated ugly Christmas jumpers. He had been given counselling and gone back to work with an understanding support team. He felt older and wiser now just like Santa had said he would, although he still had the dreams from time to time. He held up his Shelf-Elf storyboard, which was nearly finished ahead of schedule. ‘Seems like you’re getting on well. Chocolate raisins are always funny, hohoho! Just the last scenario to do, eh? Remember that mistakes are important for learning, Barry, I’ve made gazillions of them. So many I couldn’t  even learn from all of them or my brain would get too big and my head could explode. Do your best as often as possible, Shelf-Elf, allow a margin for error.’ ‘Thank you Santa.’ ‘Back to th

~ Words on beginning the Winter Festivities ~ Monday 30th November 2020 Autumn’s last calendar day. The season puts on a thick mist coat so I picture it flouncing out with flaming leaves at its hem, russet apples tumbling behind. Winter clatters at the door, all cold bones and tense sparkling hope. Last night I had driven home connected to a clear night, moon above, fuel warning light pipping, songs turned loud: it was like old poor times, the good energy of it, the leap of faith. This night I drove home through wails of mist, fuel levels contently full, songs still loud: the good energy of repleteness. My fear of comfort is diminished, I note, and this brings an excitement. Am I ready? Yes. Tuesday 1st December 2020 In bed drinking coffee, having first admired the crazy moon lighting the morning sky silvery bright; the sun behind us was arriving as though poured slowly from a jug. Welcome to winter. This first day is a list of simple pleasures: setting up cold protection in t