But the weight of it had a warmth much needed and more than welcome with the weather on the turn. “Plenty of berries now,” she used to say, as if he'd needed telling, “and don't be sparing with your cuts. His mother had died in September, twelve years to the month, if not quite the day, on from his father's passing. Outside, the snow had blanketed everything, and its relentless tumble, languorous but incessant, made a haunting blue-greyness of the night. “A lovely, handsome fool.” Steering carefully, they descended the hillside, to where their home waited, promising a Christmas warm and safe and full of hope.

Source: Irish Examiner December 26, 2021 01:02 UTC