On driving home from an appointment this wintry night, when frost from the morning still adorned every blade of grass and leaf, when houses breathed their heated breaths into the air from pipes protruding out their sides, when people stood like icicles at bus stops… I saw the warmest sight.

I saw on the canal a houseboat. It nestled on the furthest bank, and its little windows, sunken to a level below the walking knee, were alight. Little curtains pulled aside to reveal the warm glow of a compact living space. Much like one would see in an illustrated painting in a cosy children’s book.

I saw pictures on the walls, I saw a table adorned with candles ready for an evening meal. I saw fairy lights along the ceiling, and caught sight of a stripy jumper and a loaf of bread tucked under a stripy arm.

All in the matter of moments as my car trundled on by.

And I thought, as I traversed the icy, winding roads of the Cheshire countryside, that winter, for all its harsh dreariness, is not so bad after all.

Why, all the better to appreciate the summer with.

And the beautiful winter moon, gleaming in the dark, glistening sky.

And the magnificent sunsets, enriched only more for how fleeting they are, unlike the long drawn out goodbyes of summer ones.

It lifted my spirits a little, seeing that wink of cosiness in a houseboat on a frosty winter night.

It’s not so bad after all. The change in season is inevitable, essential.