Sunrise Over Mist
The heart of our home is undoubtedly the solid fuel Rayburn which sits in the old open fireplace. An unremarkable piece of hardware really, constituting a beige enamel box streaked with brown stains and soot and a black top in which is set the hotplate polished smooth by pans. I remember my scepticism when I first clapped eyes on it and the struggle to kindle a fire, but now our life revolves around it. We keep it well fed and in return receive an oven, hob, clothes dryer, hot water, warmth and even a radiator to keep the chill from G's nursery. All for the price of a few days a year spent cutting wood with my father! There's no timer on the wood burner though and on our return this evening the cottage felt damp and cold, reminiscent of five years back when we first moved in. Three bags of weatherboard off cuts leaning up outside the door indicated that our builder friend A had paid a visit in our absence and so, without even having to venture into the damp night for logs, I soon had a blaze crackling away behind the heavy cast door.
If human blinkers were available, Em would have bought them a long while back and stapled them to my head in an attempt to keep my eyes on the road whilst driving. I freely admit that it is dangerous and try hard to remain focused, but today as always there was so much to draw the eye: the ground outside a village church scarlet with yew berries, a roebuck grazing on grass strewn stubble, red kites soaring to evade the mocking crows, sunlight seeping into misty valleys, rare service trees flame red with autumn colour and ravens wheeling above the Malvern Hills.
Dinner
Fruit cake and a pear - the travellers repast!
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