For December is here, and amid the bustle of shopping and baking, wrapping and decorating, there is an overarching peacefulness. Best heard in the early mornings when the sun shines through frosted tree branches, sending glittery beams scattering across the kitchen; or at dusk, when the light turns pewter, and the world is hushed; or yet at night, when the world sleeps, the cats prowl, and the house sighs with satisfaction at a day well spent.
The run up to Christmas is best. Over the years we have learned to be easy on ourselves, to let the season unfold instead of rushing it. Living in the country, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees and snow and sheep, and space, that is easy to do. And when December rolls around, I appreciate it most of all.