“When I admire the wonders of a sunset or the beauty of the moon, my soul expands in the worship of the creator”

Mahatma Ghandi (1883–1944)

How welcome the pallid winter sun; illuminating the austere beeches;

Stately pines, forever green, sheltered home of tits and finches.

Last, lingering bronzed and brittle leaves tremble on the naked bough,

As new buds, flushed in ruddy hues, adorn the bare limbs now.

Softly falls the evening sun, staining clouds with pastel colour,

As Rooks perform the evening ritual, raucous call from naked spire;

 And cold blows the wind from o’er the snow-capped hills and crested sea,

Driving the feathered visitors, pilgrims from far afield, towards the bield.*

Gradually the dwindling twilight is swallowed up in falling darkness;

Last birds fly with urgent cries, to shelter in ivy covered hedges.

As the rising moon casts silver beams across the frosted lawn,

We retreat inside the cottage, to the flaming, fragrant fire and warmth.


*Bield – Scottish  – shelter or house


“The Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is time for home”

Edith Sitwell (1887 – 1964)