Sunday, 31 December 2023
Romanticizing Sundays in winter: light up lots of candles, stay grateful, drink your coffee in front of the fireplace, read fairy tales, go to a Christmas market, wear ribbons in your hair, wear those boots that you like and your pretty black gloves. Wear Chanel or Dior on your skin and your dainty snowflake jewellery. Take nice pictures of moments and places, sing happy songs in the car, enjoy your day, take a long bath, everything will be okay in the end. 🖤❄️🎀
A veiled hush had fallen over the world. All the young breezes that had been whispering and rustling so importantly along the Dawlish Road had folded their wings and become motionless and soundless. Not a leaf stirred, not a shadow flickered. The maple leaves at the bend of the road turned wrong side out until the trees looked as if they were turning pale from fear. A huge cool shadow seemed to engulf them like a green wave...the cloud had reached them. Then the rain, with a rush and sweep of wind. The shower pattered sharply down on the leaves, danced along the smoking red road and pelted the roof of the old forge right merrily.
As suddenly as it had come up, it was over and the sun was shining on the wet, glistening trees. Dazzling glimpses of blue sky appeared between the torn white clouds. Far away they could see a hill still dim with rain, but below them the cup of the valley seemed to brim over with peach-tinted mists. The woods around were pranked out with a sparkle and glitter as of springtime, and a bird began to sing in the big maple over the forge as if he were cheated into believing it really was springtime, so amazingly fresh and sweet did the world seem all at once.
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