Years ago my sister lived in a beautiful old cottage . The old inglenook fireplace was one that could be walked through . Not when a fire was burning though . The atmosphere on a cold day was transformed into cosy and snug . The logs burning and popping adding character to the quiet exhaustion after a long walk in the cold . Sometimes seasonal oil applied on fruit skin added to the spice of an early evening drink . Anytime the fire burned the quiet silence or old stone slabs changed. All cold dissipated and lying back in a comfortable chair I would imagine someone hiding and escaping through the chimney . Or thinking how Santa Claus would be coming later . We had young children in the house and were getting ready to leave Santa’s snack and a carrot for Rudi . Sweet memories of long ago . The magic of Father Christmas and the midnight deliveries we would be making later . Sitting by the fire I could remember my own sweet Christmases where pillowcases left out were mysteriously filled . Believing fervently that Santa was responsible for the chocolate and wonderful stocking surprises . Sweet, lovely memories of a fire like being transported into other tins
Warning...writing doesnt always rmtake us where we expect; my poem today came from somewhere rather bleak, reminding me that there are many people who are not feeling cosy right now and making me pause for thought.
Years ago my sister lived in a beautiful old cottage . The old inglenook fireplace was one that could be walked through . Not when a fire was burning though . The atmosphere on a cold day was transformed into cosy and snug . The logs burning and popping adding character to the quiet exhaustion after a long walk in the cold . Sometimes seasonal oil applied on fruit skin added to the spice of an early evening drink . Anytime the fire burned the quiet silence or old stone slabs changed. All cold dissipated and lying back in a comfortable chair I would imagine someone hiding and escaping through the chimney . Or thinking how Santa Claus would be coming later . We had young children in the house and were getting ready to leave Santa’s snack and a carrot for Rudi . Sweet memories of long ago . The magic of Father Christmas and the midnight deliveries we would be making later . Sitting by the fire I could remember my own sweet Christmases where pillowcases left out were mysteriously filled . Believing fervently that Santa was responsible for the chocolate and wonderful stocking surprises . Sweet, lovely memories of a fire like being transported into other tins
Just gorgeous, such a lovely piece of prose <3
Thank you
day 2 - inspired by a couple of things I’ve been thinking about and used an acrostic approach.
……………..
From wonder comes knowledge and learning
In the most unexpected ways.
Reassured by personal commitment
Excited for what is to come.
Placing trust in others as
Life takes on a new tributary,
Along the rivers outside the window of wonder.
Cozy and comforting by the open fire, flames
Enchant my eyes and bring dreams to life.
Sue H 2 Dec 24
'Life takes on a new tributary', beautiful!
Warning...writing doesnt always rmtake us where we expect; my poem today came from somewhere rather bleak, reminding me that there are many people who are not feeling cosy right now and making me pause for thought.
#promptvent #day2 FIREPLACE
Outside, the dark is falling,
it's cold and grey today,
like so many days have been this autumn.
Shadows fill the corners
where the lamplight doesn't reach,
and the ashes in the grate are cold.
Another lonely evening
stretches out into the night...
perhaps it's best to simply go to bed.
Such an important reminder, thank you Jane - sending love and light!
This year, who will hang the stockings on the fireplace?
Who will put the angel on the tree?
Will anyone ensure the wreath is on the door?
or take the kids to sit on Santa's knee
All those old familiars have been tipped upside down
We never planned that things would be this way
But now that we've been parted, and the festive season started
It's time to recreate our Christmas Day
So we will start a new tradition as a family
Making room for new things in our heart
But the past can't be forgotten, so when we hang that stocking
We'll raise a glass of something to it as we start.