Memories Stitched in Thread

 It is a grey November morning and the atmosphere is heavy with fog and mist. I don't think I will get out to take any photos today. Instead I'm content to sit by the fire and stitch fragments of memories into tiny bits of cloth. There is a shiver in my bones today brought on by the damp chill in the air so I think I will put the kettle on the wood stove  and make some tea.

 A solitary star shines bright in November's bleak woods

 I remember the Christmas trees on the green in the town where I grew up. My Dad, and after his death my Step Father, along with the Methodist Men's group would put up and decorate the trees. Traveling  home one night, from some long ago forgotten event, I remember seeing the illuminated trees under the full moon. There was magic in the air, a palpable sense of the Sacred and some ancient connection stirred in my young soul.