A Dull Woman's Van Life

Christmas arrived early in our little household this year. By the 1st of December the tree was already standing proud, the lights twinkling, and garlands draped over every available surface.

Even Pepper gave the place an approving sniff. And just to seal the festive mood, we had a visitor — not a reindeer, sadly, but a young deer wandering quietly past the house. It lingered long enough for us to catch its delicate outline against the hedgerow. Not quite Santa’s entourage, but magical all the same.

It’s been a week of mixed emotions. The gentle excitement of the season is here — that unmistakable feeling that Christmas is gathering pace — yet it has been tempered by the sadness of losing a dear friend and colleague. Grief and joy have been wrapped tightly together, colouring each day in a way that makes the small moments outdoors feel even more precious. I’ve found myself wandering the hills more often than usual, Pepper trotting faithfully at my side, the fresh air and open space offering room for the thoughts that refuse to stay still.

The late sunrise means our morning walks begin in complete darkness, often lit only by the moon. But somewhere along the way, the sky softens, and the valley slowly reveals itself.

On Friday, we were treated to the last supermoon of the year. Clouds muted the spectacle, but even so, the path up toward Musbury held a silver shimmer, like somebody had dusted it with frost and fairy lights.

At the same time, the faintest wash of yellow and red crept over Scout Moor in the east. Standing between moonlight and dawn felt almost otherworldly.

By the time Pepper and I made our way down the valley path, the sky had deepened into shades of red and purple.

The bare branches stood in stark silhouette, and birds flitted across the colours like tiny shadows in flight.

Back at home, the garden has been a busy stage of its own, full of wings and rustles as winter visitors arrive and depart.

A week of contrasts: darkness and light, joy and sorrow, endings and beginnings. Yet in the quiet spaces — under the moon, in the dawn, beside the twinkling Christmas tree — there’s a comforting sense that life finds its balance, even in December.