The Christmas Wreath.
Twilight has come gently as a slow breath to the haven.
Snow has been falling all day.
And a pristine white blanket covers the land.
But now?
The cloud layer has melted away and the setting sun casts its radiance across the snow.
Warmly wrapped against the chill.
You leave your home and go to the gate.
Your breath pluming in the still air.
After a moment.
You hear the sound of the pony trap approaching from the direction of the old lady's cottage.
It may be your imagination,
But the fallen snow seems to draw back from the pony's hooves and the wheels.
It's all part of the magic here.
The pony trap driver jumps down to help you politely into the seat.
The old lady is already there and greets you with a friendly smile.
You settle back as the pony trap begins to move.
Today you are taking the longer way to the village.
The lane that cuts through the fairy wood.
The last light of the sun lingers and you look out at the snow-moulded land,
Quiet and sparkling.
Tonight,
The villagers are gathering for a special walk.
Another tradition of the haven.
Together you will walk through the lantern lit paths.
Gathering the evergreens to make Christmas wreaths.
Before ending the evening with warmth and celebration at the old manor house.
The lane curves through the crisp meadows.
And then swings back toward the wood.
The trees here are still dark.
A few oaks and peaches,
Holding snow-crisped leaves that glow dark bronze.
It is comfortable in the little carriage,
With warm wool throws and foot warmers.
And you relax as the dusk gives way to night.
And the pony trap makes its way to your destination.
The village is small.
Only a handful of cottages along the main street.
And others dotting along the winding lanes.
Tonight.
The villagers have gathered beside the old inn.
And welcome you and the old lady as you both step from the pony trap.
Everyone has been waiting for you both.
The old lady has been in the haven for as long as anyone can remember.
And her presence always feels comforting.
As though she understands the magic of the place more deeply than anyone.
And it is she who will lead the village group tonight.
She hands you a small basket.
And says to you quietly.
You will not have to gather any evergreens tonight.
You wonder why,
In that case.
She has given you a basket.
But she only winks.
And tells you that you will know when to use it.
Accepting this.
You begin the walk.
Following the lanterns that were lit in the late autumn.
The lanterns line the path,
Casting their warm golden glow on the snow.
Their light seems to make everything feel softer.
As if the whole world has been wrapped in a white blanket.
As you walk.
You focus on the beauty of the winter landscape.
The trees,
Their branches heavy with snow.
The glittering of frost that clings to the holly bushes.
And the distant sound of a stream that flows too fast to freeze.
The villagers walk quietly.
Each person absorbed in the peacefulness of the moment,
Their breath visible in the cold air as they move forward,
Gathering evergreens.
From time to time,
The old lady pauses to point out certain plants.
Holly with its sharp glossy leaves.
Ivy that winds its way around the trees.
And pine branches,
Rich with the scent of the forest.
The walk feels timeless.
The soft glow of the lanterns blending with the peaceful winter night.
Stars are now sparkling in the sky as brilliant as the glittering frost.
The magic of the haven.
Lies over everything like an element.
Part of the land itself.
Subtle as a veil of gossamer.
You find that you have drawn ahead of the other villagers.
And that you and the old lady are walking together toward an open gate in the hedgerow.
You know the field well.
In the autumn.
There were the blackberries together.
The bushes and the tall trees are limbed with snow.
There is a soft gathering of movement.
And a white stag walks into the gateway.
Is as white as the snow itself.
Only its huge eyes,
Pools of darkness.
Its great antlers are garlanded with a wreath of holly,
Ivy.
And pine.
As you approach a little closer.
You see in the starlight.
That there are also tiny white flowers woven into the wreath.
They are as delicate as stars.
Few flowers bloom in midwinter.
These you think.
Must have come from the fairy wood.
The stag dips its head.
And you glance at the old lady who nods,
Smiling.
Encouraging you.
You gently take the wreath from the antlers and place it in your basket.
The stag pushes its head against you.
And you feel the warmth emanating from it.
Even in the chill night.
Then it steps back.
And disappears like mist.
Into the snowy landscape.
There is a faint scent from the fairy flowers,
Fresh and light.
It mingles with the resinous pine.
And surround you as you continue your walk.
Soon,
The path begins to slope gently upward.
Another field gate that opens onto a lane.
Against the sky.
You can see not far away.
The cables of the old manor house.
And soon.
The warm lights of its windows glowing out over the snowy gardens.
The garden path is lined with lanterns,
Leading you to the open front door.
Warmth and light spill out.
The manor's entrance is decorated with garlands of holly and pine.
And the smell of spiced wine and freshly baked cakes and cookies wafts through the air.
The old gentleman waits there with a kind smile.
As you arrive.
And the old lady greets him and leads you into the grand hall.
Her eyes are twinkling as though she knows something magical is about to happen.
A fire burns in the fireplace.
Long tables have been set out around the walls.
The villagers enter,
Talking quietly.
And place their gathered evergreens on the table.
Large though it is.
The hall appears welcoming and festive.
The old lady shows you a comfortable chair not far from the fire.
And you take off your outdoor clothes.
And sit down.
Reaching your hands out to the warmth.
The firelight casts its comforting glow over the gathering.
There are wonderful scents of pine,
Cinnamon and cloves.
The room feels like a perfect haven from the cold night outside.
The old lady moves to the tables and begins to skillfully weave the evergreens.
The villagers watching.
She told you a few weeks ago that as the old gentleman was away this tradition has not been enacted for many years.
And making the wreaths requires practice.
Everyone comes to the tables and begins to work on their own wreaths.
And although you have been given one.
You also join in.
There is a peaceful rhythm to the task.
And the villagers begin to talk quietly as they work.
After a time,
The wreaths are completed.
Each one a beautiful reminder of the evening walk.
Plates of food and drink are handed around.
Mulled wine and cider for those who want it.
Or tea,
Coffee.
And hot chocolate.
You sit to eat and drink.
The gentle crackle of the fire,
A soft and comforting counterpoint to the quiet conversation.
The evening winds down slowly.
The fire burning low.
As the warmth in the room lingers.
There's something magical about the manor house.
Something that makes you feel as though you've stepped into a different time.
A place where the magic of this season is very real.
And shared by everyone in the room.
At last,
It's time to head home.
The evening has been filled with warmth and magic.
But the quiet of the night beckons.
In ones and twos.
Saying goodbye to the old gentleman.
The villagers step outside.
Buttoning coats and wrapping scarves.
Their laughter and conversations fading into the background as you wait in the porch to say your own goodbyes.
The old gentleman waves you off kindly.
And asks with a slight smile if you have remembered the wreath.
Not the one you made.
But the one that was a gift to you.
You assure him that you have.
And you and the old lady walk down the garden path.
Where the lanterns still flicker softly over the snowy garden.
Waiting on the lane,
You see the pony trap.
Its driver as mysterious as ever.
He gives you a small nod.
The old lady climbs in first,
Her movements graceful despite her age.
And you follow,
Settling in beside her.
The driver snaps the reins gently.
And the pony begins to move.
It's ooze making a rhythmic sound on the lane.
He turns down toward the village which is quiet now the soft jingle of the pony's bells and its hooves.
The only sound.
As you pass by the glowing windows of the cottages.
The old lady sits quietly beside you,
Watching the snowy landscape.
With a knowing smile.
There is no need for words.
Just the quiet companionship of the journey.
The pony trap retraces its journey through the fairy wood and you are sure that you see deep within,
Illuminated as if by moonlight.
The great white stag.
You are feeling a little sleepy as the pony trap stops outside your home.
As you get out.
The old lady gives you one last twinkling glance and a soft wave.
Leaving you with a sense that all is well.
Before you open your front door.
You lift the wreath out of your basket.
And hang it there.
It smells of pine and winter,
Firelight and spices,
And also the beautiful light scent of the white flowers woven through it.
Now you step inside your cottage.
Closing the door gently behind you.
The warms of home greet you.
And you take your time getting ready for bed.
As you lie down.
You feel the peacefulness of the night settling over you.
The world outside is quiet.
Sleeping under a blanket of snow.
The magic of The Haven is always with you.
Guiding you softly.
Into a deep sleep.
And rest all.
Sleep.
Sleep.
