Christmas Eve Morning in Wareham ...

I woke this morning to a flawless sky - for a few moments I recalled my sultry dreams - then joy filled my soul - I felt like Scrooge, opening his bedroom window - on such days, withered souls became young and green - I felt as I felt when waking to the voice of the muezzin - 

I parked the red Peugeot before the Walls  - I walked through gentle Wareham as though I were Damiel - I found the keffiyeh I thought I had lost - each house in West Street was filled with forgiving ghosts - I was dazzled by poignant sunlight - 

The church tower rose to heaven - the bright river ran to the sea - Paul was cutting hair with his shining scissors - there was the Black Bear, where the Camera Club meet - Golden Glory brimmed in pint glasses - the bearded men in Ponds were warmed by their venerable stove - 

Inside The Salt Pig, the voices of Christmas visitors reminded me of Shoreditch - smoked hams hung from the low ceiling - I gave up my seat for a friend of the Crossword Gang - I sipped my cappuccino standing up - 

I saw that the Wareham Whalers would be singing in The Anglebury - I resolved to have a toasted teacake there, to sit where Lawrence had sat, casting his blue eyed shadow upon the lime washed walls - 

This afternoon, Sophie would be coming down to see us - she and Tessa would shine like angels - 

11.00

December 24 2014

Outside The Salt Pig 

North Street

Wareham