They walked back to the Bistro. The Christmas rush of swarming bodies covered in a patchwork of holly green, cranberry red and navy wool apparel. There were less fur-topped bobbing beanies, less huddles of parka jackets dashing past. Everyone had completed their last-minute gift-buying and hurrying home to wrap them up. It was perfect. The…
Christmas Poem: The Notebook on the Mantlepiece
Christmas Poem: Inside the cottage… Upon the mantlepiece rests an inherited clock, cloak of dust and ornaments. A pinecone sits alone.