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smallhobbitKestrel337 asked about my perfect day in my least favourite season. I've thought long and hard on this and come up with a partial answer. The easy part was identifying my least favourite season, which is winter. (My favourite is autumn, followed probably by summer and then spring, although deciding between those two is quite hard).
But I found it difficult to think of a perfect day in winter. I don't care for cold and wet and snow is fine for about 10 minutes, after which I will have built my snowman and become the afore-mentioned cold and wet. So instead here are two brief scenes.
The first scene is set at Christmas, but not the Dickensian giant family party with masses of food and bonhomie. For me it's last thing on Christmas Eve: everyone else has gone to bed and I will switch the lights out, leaving just the lights on the Christmas tree. Underneath the tree are all the unopened presents, which in years gone by would have included stockings. (When very small my son saw a Christmas card with the stockings hanging from the mantlepiece - he insisted that was what we should do and the tradition remained. And strangely enough the children never got up really early, in fact there were years when I was the first one up.) And I will stand and enjoy the peace and stillness.
The second scene could be any time from the end of December through January. On a miserable day I've gone to a matinée performance at a theatre. As you will have gathered I love going to the theatre at any time, but there is a special feeling during those winter days when there is a sense that they will last for ever and nothing exciting happens. To spend an afternoon being taken out of myself, conveyed wherever the performance takes me and then to head outside afterwards to find that it's already dark, but to still be carrying a little of the magic inside me is very special.
But I found it difficult to think of a perfect day in winter. I don't care for cold and wet and snow is fine for about 10 minutes, after which I will have built my snowman and become the afore-mentioned cold and wet. So instead here are two brief scenes.
The first scene is set at Christmas, but not the Dickensian giant family party with masses of food and bonhomie. For me it's last thing on Christmas Eve: everyone else has gone to bed and I will switch the lights out, leaving just the lights on the Christmas tree. Underneath the tree are all the unopened presents, which in years gone by would have included stockings. (When very small my son saw a Christmas card with the stockings hanging from the mantlepiece - he insisted that was what we should do and the tradition remained. And strangely enough the children never got up really early, in fact there were years when I was the first one up.) And I will stand and enjoy the peace and stillness.
The second scene could be any time from the end of December through January. On a miserable day I've gone to a matinée performance at a theatre. As you will have gathered I love going to the theatre at any time, but there is a special feeling during those winter days when there is a sense that they will last for ever and nothing exciting happens. To spend an afternoon being taken out of myself, conveyed wherever the performance takes me and then to head outside afterwards to find that it's already dark, but to still be carrying a little of the magic inside me is very special.
