Yesterday, before the long awaited attack on the dining room, I went for my run.
A run in another world. A world all white and misty, not really quite there.
Sleepy trees looming from distance that isn't really there. The normal seems bizarre. The strange, just part of the day.
Imagination takes control, thoughts spiral. Head fills with scenes and stories as feet scrunch on soft, crisp, powdery snow.
The elves have been hanging their woollies out to dry. Should I stop and search for elves? Hmmm too cold.
The landscape looks as if it is holding its breath. Caught in time, frozen if you will.
Modern intrusion on nature's joy.
My audience watches as I jog past. Do they think I am mad being out in this snow? We all seem part of this landscape, all separate beings but held suspended in this sea of silvery silent mist.
Home and snowing. Indoors and the dream of the white lands vanishes into warm (well warmer, remember this is my house we're in now) air and hot coffee. Reality in the form of the dreaded dining room looms large.
Put away the great outdoors and the flotsam of dreams. Pick up, clean up and get back to normal.
Dining room now looks like a room again. Quelle surprise, there was a table under all that rubbish, chairs and even a floor. Christmas has left the building.
I feel a little sad.