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  December Storm

Happy Christmas. Childish thoughts of the fairy at the top of the tree reaching down and transforming the forgotten shabby doll at the back of the toy cupboard into a princess. At the stroke of midnight on Christmas eve all the animals can talk for one minute - I've always wanted to stand on the yard and listen to the horses and the foxes. Sleet erased hills and a north wind. I feel like an innuit witch as I duck against the blast to fetch the wood or scabble for some sprouts - cold as bolts - in the garden.