Ann Pilling

The first snow fell here in Upper Wensleydale on November 25^th, earlier even than last year, and that first fall was the beginning of the longest and hardest winter for thirty years. Doing my bird table this morning, fresh water, seeds of all kinds, peanuts, I wonder where all the birds have gone? I do not see them 'brooding in the snow'. A sparrow appeared first when I had gone inside again, then a blackbird. Soon my pair of collared doves will show up. And Daisy, our cocker spaniel, is driven wild with joy by snow, and galumphs about in it, barking deliriously.

This Sunday was Advent Sunday, the day that ushers in a time of mysterious waiting. The Christian waits for the coming of God (venire means to come). In the secular world too preparation are being made for the great December feast, presents bought and hidden, puddings stirred, cards written. I like this time of year.

One of my most enduring memories is my first Christmas in the Yorkshire Dales (1987) when the village band played carols on Christmas Eve outside our cottage door, and the sheep came to listen. Many years later I wrote 'One Christmas', a genuine example of Wordsworth’s 'emotion recollected in tranquillity'.

'The New Mat' is an Advent poem about the expected birth of my first grandchild and 'Thaw' is about, well, a thaw. No promise of that for days and days yet.

Happy Christmas!