Chacun voit midi à sa porte

Watching my toddler figure out how to language is fascinating. Yesterday we were stumped when he kept insisting there was a “Lego winner” behind his bookshelf - it turned out to be a little Lego trophy cup. Not knowing the word for “trophy”, he’d extrapolated a word for “thing you can win”. And then, just now, he held up his empty milk container and said, “Mummy? It’s not rubbish. It’s allowed to be a bottle.” - meaning, effectively, “I want this. Don’t throw it away.” But to an adult ear, there’s something quite lovely about “it’s allowed to be a bottle,” as if we’re acknowledging that the object is entitled to keep its title even in the absence of the original function.

I like hot drinks that warm the heart. The way fingertips grace mugs for comfort. And I like the time it takes snowflakes to fall, how when they descend, clocks wink slower. I like the way a lit candle can ignite multiple senses. How its presence makes a night more simple, more easy going, better in a way I can’t really explain. I like where our focus begins to lie; on others, rather than ourselves, for one of the few times during the year. I like the warm feeling that comes with seeing a loved one happy because of something you made happen. I love the way golden-white lights on a tree blind you, when you wake in the dead of the night. I love the shelter and comfort that comes with wearing thick knit scarves and fleece gloves, how you can look so warm and welcoming and can keep to yourself at the same time. The feeling of warm air gracing your skin as you enter a library to spend hours picking out books that will occupy your time as the year comes to a close. And I like the magic that comes with feeling you’re loved; with realizing just how much the people you surround yourself care; because when you’re away from home for a while, it’s easy to forget. I like the holidays. I really like winter.

Still

2010-2012: The lost years of dream writing.