Food comes in many forms.

In the Summer, I sit against the obelisk, feeling the warmth of its sun-baked stone on my back; devouring food of a different kind… soul food.

I dine on Dostoyevsky, Dickens and Donne. I gorge on Keats, Coleridge and Camus. I devour the pages of Austen, Bronte and Chaucer with a hunger that has nothing to do with my stomach!

But in the Winter this must be done by the fire. The cold grey stone is icy to the touch; scant comfort it affords at the time of year… Treasures such as A Winter’s Tale, A Christmas Carol and The Children of Green Knowe are consumed by flickering flame; tucked up warmly in the radiance of the hearth’s glowing embers.

As I pass the obelisk on my morning walk, I pause and run a hand across its mottled, mossy surface. The stone almost burns with cold. The huge golden sun which hangs resplendent in the sky can’t compete with Jack Frost’s meddlesome mischief!

Whatever you get up to today, be sure to wrap up warm, for it is icy, icy cold.

Thanks for reading,

Adam.