The cottage is dark. The skies are heavy and the passing cars outside my
window make a swishing noise on the dampened roads. January seems a long month.
It always does.
The windows are small; they let in limited light. But their panes are edged
in white and through them the cherry trees are stretching their twiggy limbs
towards the light grey sky, so pale is almost parchment, and longing for the
day when festoons of pale pink blossom will sprout there in the merry month of
May, leaving the austerity of winter behind. The hills behind them are
comfortingly green. The poinsettia on our windowsill glows a heart-warming
shade of red, reminiscent of the Christmas that is now past. Ornamental boats,
pebbles from the sea shore and a small, stark white lighthouse with a seagull
perched on top seem out of place now but at least they augur warmer, happier
times to come in this scenic coastal spot on the west of Wales. The seafront is
damp and drab now but on summer days it will be transformed once again, as the
yellow sun glints on the dancing waves and life-sized boats bob up and down in
the water.
On dark days like these we need candles. We have saved our strings of
tiny bulbs from the Christmas decorations, draped them round the hearth and the
old mahogany bookcase to light our way through this gloomy season. Why put them
away in the box when they can still brighten up the winter months? The soft,
white tablecloth is adorned with cheery red candles, matching the hopeful vase
of small, red tulips which have cheated their way into an early life with the
help of hothouse warmth and the latest technology. Red is a good colour for
this time of year, not just for Christmas. The bear's festive hat and scarf on
this novelty pen donated so kindly by my grandchildren, nods in agreement as I
write. Red keeps us warm. Red makes us bright like robins. Somehow we will make
it through these dark days to summer.
