Gratitude.
For shorter days.
For colder days.
For crisp bright blues, and low, sullen greys.
For the browns, the yellows and rusts.
For stripped back trees.
High piles of crunchy leaves.
For the drawing of curtains
and the lighting of fires.
Thank you for the gloves and hats and scarves.
Cable knits and wellies.
Coats thick as duvets,
dashed blood red with Flanders flowers.
For morning walks that brace.
For breath you can see.
And whistling winds that you can’t.
For the beautiful melancholia of the paling of the sun.
And the magic of opening your own front door to the smell of
slow cooked food.
Thank you for fireworks. And sausages.
For sparklers and sprouts.
For long, boisterous lunches that
start in the light and end in the dark.
For hearty dinners. Lashings of red wine.
For turkey. For bacon.
For thick, rich gravy and puddings
where the forks stand up on their own.
Thank you for presents.
For presence.
For family coming.
And for family going.
For late finishes with wrapping paper.
And early starts with toddlers and fizz.
Thank you for warm lights.
And for even warmer laughter.
Thank you for love.
For this precious winter life.