Signposts to Winter

On a frosty Hogmanay (what the Scots call New Year's Eve), the sky looks so grey and distant thunder rumbles, and the shaded corners of the garden hold the puddles that are a legacy from spiteful wintry weather. After the sunset, the sky has turned into the very palest shade of blue, punched through with stars blinking like a million of cells under a microscope. Meanwhile, a cursory glance through my window suggests that the winding cobbled streets near the harbour are deserted, and one judges the power of the wind by observing the waterfront, shines with spray, and the windows of white fishermen’s cottages plastered with seaweed.

 

A beautiful vista overlooking the sea and rugged coastline is both an inspiration and a refuge for me.

Flying geese

Early morning before sunrise

 

This sight of bleak midwinter reminds me of the poem called ‘Seasons’ by Christina Rossetti that goes:  “Short-lived sunshine gives no heat,/ Undue buds are nipped by frost,/ Snow sets forth a winding-sheet/ And all hope of life seems lost.”

Despite the melancholy reminder of this poem and the dismal weather outside, I think it is nice to be at home for a decent break away from the city, which to me, is always tinged with a peculiar routine that involves a perpetual motion, speed, goals and objectives. But in my seaside retreat, I become what Yeats calls a 'pilgrim soul', finding a peaceful harmony with nature at the edge of the sea. I devise a routine which lives literally from day to day and seldom with any objective other than books, music, food and sleep.       
 

 

Christmas did turn out to be a rather special day with Gordon and some close friends although I had to leave everything until the last minute. It filled me with terror to see the shoppers rushing off to buy food and drinks as if there is no tomorrow. On Christmas Eve, I set out to a local farm where they were selling all the trees on 75% discount. I managed to purchase a fine tree, over ten feet tall, beautifully fragrant with a fresh woody and aromatic tree resin (the smell of Christmas), for only £30.

 

 

On my way back, I stopped at the honesty farm stall at the edge of the farm to buy fruits and vegetables. I thought what a perfect way to do Christmas shopping in this unmanned farm shop. There was no need to rush, queue or listen to the loud music at the supermarket. There is no check out either since it trusts the customers to voluntarily pay for goods inside the tin box.

 

 

I decorated the tree in the evening after the fire was lit in the living room and put on my favourite CD titled ‘Noël’ by the Swedish mezzo-soprano, Anne Sofie von Otter and the pianist, Bengt Forsberg. I love this album. It contains a collection of wistful songs (some are traditional songs) about the mixed emotions the holiday season can provoke during this time of the year.

I gave the brand new CDs of Noel to my friends for Christmas. It's one of my favourites.

On Christmas day, Gordon gave me a beautiful bouquet of white flowers which I arranged them in an old basket.  
 

 

Every winter I re-read May Sarton’s journal, The House by the Sea published in 1977. This book is my old favourite (I have multiple copies at home) and it is the original source of inspiration why I decided to move from the city to the east coast five years ago and live by the sea like Sarton. I love and admire her evocative writing especially her poetry and descriptive powers and her ability to create an atmosphere.
 

She was a master both of a lucid, graceful style and of a sensuous, poetic prose. She loved her cat, Bramble and her dog, Tamas. She wrote: “Solitude shared with animals has a special quality and rarely turns into loneliness…Solitude like a long love, deepens with time…For growing into solitude is one way of growing to the end.”

May Sarton at home. (Image credit: Pintrest)

How I wish I had known her in real life! Her poetry, novels and above all, journals (Plant Dreaming Deep (1968) and The House by the Sea (1977) in particular), 'sonatas' as she called them, remain constant pleasures in my life. They are like reading a letter from a very erudite friend who happens to live faraway by the sea. In May 1973, Sarton moved to a large old house “Wild Knoll”, near York on the Maine coast, which faces the sea. It was a place observed in solitude. Her style of writing in this journal is reflective and her poetic view of natural phenomena and her humanistic concern for the lives of the lonely and the countrymen follows the same tradition of Gilbert White in the eighteenth century and Richard Jefferies in the nineteenth century.

Along with May Sarton's The House by the Sea, Arnold Bennett's Friendship & Happiness is another favourite book of mine to read especially this time of the year. Bennett's idealistic vision of finding simple pleasures in celebrating Christmas is something to be inspired but it is hard to achieve in reality since we live in the world that is increasingly materialistic in every aspect.

 

As I write this, it is 4 pm on New Year’s Eve and I am reminded by so many kind and thoughtful gestures of people (including people who have been reading this blog for many years) in this year for which I am very grateful. I would like to say thank you very much for your kindness and friendship. I have not been able to keep up with writing regular posts lately due to other commitments. Nevertheless, writing this blog for all these years has been one of my private pleasures. I compare it to a refreshing aperitif and there is no substitute for joy that I find in sharing my pursuit of art and poetry with you all.

 

Meanwhile, we live in the time of anxiety and conflict in which our future seems uncertain and our poetic licence seems to be under threat from the aggressive forces.  

 

The Iranian born artist, Shirazeh Houshiary who moved to London in 1974 recently said this in a newspaper’s interview:

 

“The world is developing and changing, and we have to slowly remove boundaries. The fact that we want to go backwards and return to what we were in the past is not growth. This will be bad for creativity, bad for science, it is bad for every single individual. It is better to develop and have a different kind of consciousness that connects us to other people.”
 

With this note, I hope your New Year’s Eve, and the whole year to follow afterwards will be peaceful, joyful and prosperous. I wish you all the best and have a blessed New Year!

 

Philomena's first Christmas