I love the quiet days in between Christmas and New Year. Not working and not celebrating, just being.
Friday’s snow not having lasted long enough for someone to build a whole snowman. The evening when it fell though our street suddenly filled with excited children, many of them fully grown.
I stop for a while and sit on the wall on the far side of the park, near to Lark Lane. Where I always sit. I have my lunch, the Spinach and Courgette Quiche Sarah made yesterday. And read my current book, a hefty political autobiography by Denis Healey. Something for me to bury myself in and argue with pleasurably during these quiet days. Not working, not celebrating, just being.
On one of the quiet days in between Christmas and New Year. Not working and not celebrating, just being.