The forks and the coffee pot dance. Each has a thin handle of light, and cheese grater shapes loom large and strange on the ceiling. 

 DSC_2401               Circles of orange light wobble the walls and candle flame flicks inside the red glass lamp making the shadow cups dance too. Each fairy light is bright – an aquarium of tiny reflections and circles bounce off mirror and jars, and a rainbow of stripes lick the kettle. Fire-light plays over hearth-wood like a hand on a harp. Metal things are duller than usual but the poker and tongs have halos and the chocolate bar gold-wall-paper lustres.

 The stream bubbles over the stones, the fire crackles and the stove pipe moans but sound is hushed and drunk up by the dark. It’s a magic December dark, warm and soft and secret, it’s a carol dark, a music box dark, a velvet and chocolate inside-of-a-theatre dark.

 Outside, the line of the valley is just visible, the trees in silhouette, the sky starless. From outside, the caravan is a glow-worm.

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