‘Christmas isn’t a season. It’s a feeling.’
It is December, and Advent is upon us!
The shops fill with decorations, the streets fill with shoppers, and the churches fill a few more benches!
Buddhism spreads like wildfire, and in some countries Christians find themselves explaining their faith in a world where it is no longer part of the language.
Whether you call it Essence love or the Holy Spirit of God, or something else altogether – I hope these next few weeks bring you a little extra lightness of being.
Writers use their imagination, on the whole, but there is a magical moment, where some kind of joy just takes the story forwards –
What is that?
Returning from school our drive was lined with the cherry tree soldiers that burst into soft-petalled patrol each May.
In playgrounds, the young children dance a dance of pagan roots as they twirl about their colourful pole, skirts swirling and muddy knees twirling to the rhythm of another year.
Our nation seems a little confused with its identity as it struggles to amalgamate such a kaleidoscope of religions, and cultures.
A local school has thirty-two languages. Respect must surely be the way forward.
Meanwhile, the Maypole returns. It has seen many changes in the playgrounds of England since its beginning, and will no doubt see many more.
But with tolerance and mutual respect, the ribbons of confusion may weave to form a wonderful new pattern for the next generation.