The best week

 

I must have been a grizzly bear in a previous life.

This week of the shortest days is my favorite of the year. The sun doesn't wake up until after 8:15 (1) and it bows out of the day a little around 5 a.m. (17h).

For my husband who likes to tee off along with sunrise it means he can sleep in a bit longer on a golf day. Other than that he has not much good to say about winter.

 For me, it means cold days, hunkering down at home, preparations for the holiday ahead. If I do venture out at night (we have a curfew in France) we can still buy fresh bread or newly baked croissants for breakfast tomorrow morning before it falls. We have the magic of walking under Christmas lights before heading home.

It is snuggling under the mink into a prewarmed bed in flannel PJs.

It's tea and meals of soup.

It's watching Netflix or DVDs under a sheepskin.

Sunday we'll put up the solstice tree, a new year with the sun slowly reappearing a bit earlier each year until we find ourselves sitting in l'Hostalet after dinner into the evening. That I love too.

The circle of the year turns even in the pandemic.

Meanwhile, I'm hibernating.