28th December 2021

The phrase ‘In the bleak midwinter’, the opening line of the carol based upon the poem by Christina Rossetti, encapsulates a time, a condition, that generally we are unable to contemplate. Our plates tend to overflow, our lives are truly blessed with ease, comfort, pleasantries, and I speak not of the lucky few, but of the masses, of each and every one of us whom do conduct our daily live comparative to times historic with abundant ease, yet still find space and energy to bemoan how unfortunate we are.


Twas plus a moment ago I was sitting enduring stoically this most uncomfortable cold snap, snow laying white and crisp about my doorways, a chill and unforgiving gale whistling through every minuscule crack in entrances, eves, walls, and windows, contemplating how well I can manage against the ravages of winters most belligerent hoard of unrepentant soldiers. When suddenly, without even the cursory warning of a momentary flash on and off, the electric power vanished from cables and appliances utterly, without even the slightest wave farewell, leaving me adrift in a pool of deepest dark.

Like many another suddenly abandoned soul my heart sank immediately, realizing that my fate was no longer within my own purview but at the mercy of an unknown crew of magical workers whom somehow manage to repair the very lifeblood of out civilization in even the most atrocious of conditions.

A few momentary and well-rehearsed considerations later, I had a pan of water heating upon the propane fired hob to provide for a suddenly much needed steaming mug of tea, tea makes every challenge in the universe infinitely easier, an ever to hand large church candle flickering just enough light to cast a wibbly-wobbly shadow, and I settled back in my rocking chair to admire and tend resolutely the embers in my wood burning heating stove.

But a few minutes later, perhaps forty of so, with a hum of replaced activity the electric power returns, and with it light, clear visualization and most importantly hope.
Perhaps hope seems a trite melodramatic, but I am unashamed to say all my needs are provided by an army of the invisible, an array of faces unknown to me personally, an admission of my gratitude most humbling.

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