The season is here, as we cook for 600 when only about 30 will be coming for lunch. Dad is only ashes so he can’t have a drink, so Mum gets the box with him in it and has a drink. The siblings are at it, as the hunger pains start roaring, and the little children have turned into terrors. Over the pond, they’ll be as cold as a bear; yet here it is mild, and the sun shines a bit. The BBQ is running, and the men gather around for it’s a team effort out there to ensure the meat isn’t charred. Bossy boots orders everyone around in the kitchen, so Mum takes Dad and flops on to the couch. Lunch will be served soon enough, yet there’s always time for a chocolate or two, a mince pie, white Christmas, a rum ball or two, strawberries with cream, a tea or two, a coffee, some punch, biscuits, and, and … Lunch is served, and the chatter runs wild; no one says grace because this isn’t the Lord’s day, it’s only Christmas Day.
They stand hand in hand taking in the beauty of the Alps.
Reflective and oddly calm, she says, “Up here, the world is crisp and clean. You and I can talk without the madness of society getting in the way… Don’t you love the way the snow sits upon the mountains, yet the sun still shines, and it isn’t too cold?“
He pauses for a few moments to breathe in the crisp air, “It’s beautiful for an Autumn day… the light, it’s welcomed here and not despised… I could live in this country…“
She looks at him and smiles, so he adds, “The sun feels different in Australia compared to Switzerland… Perhaps it is weaker?“
She squeezes his hand, and he kisses her forehead. She adds, “Yes… it feels fainter… let’s stay a little longer.“