Wait until next year

The morning radio is playing all the good Christmas songs.

“Look to the future now, it’s only just begun” – the kind of pop lyric that perhaps looks a little clichéd typed out, but like all good clichés has an underlying truth to it. The first day of December feels like the start of something. We are surrounded by endings, but it is important to recognise there are still plenty of beginnings to come. December as a month of celebration, reflection, but also of some kind of hope.

The light outside isn’t quite wintery yet, but it is crisp and bright and welcoming. The trees still cling to some of their leaves. And those leaves are lit by the morning sun into a sharp focus. The shadows are sharp, and cold.

I pass a removals van, a skip, building works. I stop for a passing hearse. Go to the bakers, it isn’t too busy. A few doors down Christmas trees are for sale. At home the decorations are a work in progress.

The afternoon looks a lot like night time. A bricklayer works by flashlight. The roads are busy and I imagine the trail of car lights punctuating the dark are fairy lights.