Weather which ought to be unpleasant but isn't. Ought to be avoided by staying inside, but we went out and didn't regret it. The murky atmosphere brought with it a sense of anticipation, of coffee back home, of shutting out the cold and lighting the fire.
An atmosphere with a warming drop something more nebulous too. A Dickensian something which long ago wormed its way into what we are - but is destined to be forgotten.
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There's a particular feeling - or more probably a related group of feelings - I get as winter draws on. It is probably something to do with the childhood anticipation of Christmas, and is certainly associated with the brightness of lights in the darkness. It is never present in nature where everything is dark - at this time of year, that just seems to be dreary. Probably those bright points of light include the coffee, and food, and home. It's a very "ancient" feeling, older than me, if that makes sense, and my guess it is common to people who live in the northern hemisphere and who gathered around winter fire and food, when the alternatives to doing that were almost unthinkable.
Edward Thomas' poem "The Owl" has something of that. But whereas most of us move from the dark to the light, he has the courage to recollect the darkness again.
Downhill I came, hungry, and yet not starved;
Cold, yet had heat within me that was proof
Against the North wind; tired, yet so that rest
Had seemed the sweetest thing under a roof.
Then at the inn had food, fire, and rest,
Knowing how hungry cold, and tired was I,
All of the night was quite barred out except
An owl's cry, a most melancholy cry
Shaken out long and clear upon the hill,
No merry note, nor cause of merriment,
But one telling me plain what I escaped
And others couldn't, that night, as in I went.
And salted was my food, and my repose,
Salted and sobered, too, by the bird's voice
Speaking for all who lay under the stars,
Soldiers and poor, unable to rejoice.
We were out at about 3:30 - 4:00 p.m. We cursed the stupid buggers who drive on sidelights rather than dipped heads and the even stupider buggers who cycle without either lights or reflective clothing.
If they want to die, I cry, why should we care? But, says my beloved, think of the paperwork. She's right.
We were out at about 3:30 - 4:00 p.m. We cursed the stupid buggers who drive on sidelights rather than dipped heads and the even stupider buggers who cycle without either lights or reflective clothing.
If they want to die, I cry, why should we care? But, says my beloved, think of the paperwork. She's right.
Winter draws on - and very pretty they look too.
Boom tish!
3 a.m.?
Sam - it feels ancient to me too, and strongly associated with the northern hemisphere. Chinks of light in the darkness, beacons of security and warmth. Easy to imagine how important it must have been for maybe thousands of years.
A while ago I read a kind of biography of Edward Thomas - "Now All Roads Lead to France". Well worth reading as I recall.
dearieme - something we see quite often is the pedestrian strolling across a busy road in the dark wearing dark clothing. They seem to think they are far more visible than they are.
DJ - but not so much the thick flannel ones.
James - oops, thanks. Now corrected although it's a bit late.
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