I keep getting these intimations of something like Christmas. Not the present-stuff or the family-obligation-hype but the sensations of warmth, of plenty, of safety, of being tucked-up, lights and candles around me and that anticipation of something like joy. That’s it, that something like joy, a throwback to an innocent-er time (for I was never truly innocent of bleakness, of darkness). It comes in unbidden, even through the mire I crawl through in the morning. That dark. I love when it comes, it sustains me. A gift. It is a gift. Unbidden, unexpected but oh, so welcome. Happy Yuletide.

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.