Greetings from the short days at the far side of the year. It's hard to imagine the sun getting higher here, but it carries on carving its relentless path through the bright dome, higher and higher with each night that passes. Old toys and shrivelled berries sit perched like hesitant birds. Wings, cramped, not sure whether to stretch or sleep. The grubs toss and turn beneath the earth's surface, listening out for the singing of Freya.
It's been a long year. How are you?
Image from a winter garden