Outside yields to Winter’s evening grip.
To the right, a steaming mug of tea; to the left, the Sunday newspapers.
Behind me, the wall mirror, gold, spreading wide, reflecting the reflected, flickering shadows playing the end of the day.
In front of me, the Fireplace; a framed oil of shaded Capri on a hot summer’s day mounted above a mantelpiece counted with decorative jugs, and that plate.
Coals in the fire hug together keeping the flame aglow: deep-burning, unquenchable.
The spluttering logs near enough to keep each other warm and far enough apart for breathing room
More shimmers of light on the old brass handled assortment of fender, poker, tongs, shovel and brush.
The curtains are drawn. An evening beside the radiant fireplace beckons. The all-calming quiet stillness of the flames: Mesmerised.
The simplicity of the fire-side chat: “Blow on the coal to keep it alive”.
Any one who knows what the worth of family affection is knows there is no greater happiness than spending evenings by the fireplace: Snug.