Hundreds of years ago life was different—simpler—and I feel it as we walk through the square. Beyond the gates, the snow crunches beneath our feet. The air is crisp, and we quickly pull on hats and gloves.
It’s quiet – quietly festive, that is. People mill around looking at garlands and holly and bright red bows outside the town halls, the general store, the old schoolhouse. Dodging horses they wander, skating on the snow in a roundabout pursuit of milky hot chocolate or crisp hot apple cider. The wagons drive past, the horses beautiful and proud, the passengers cuddled beneath woollen blankets as they breathe in the sweet smell of hay.
Coming to Heritage Park was on my list of must-do things before Christmas, and it didn’t disappoint.
The old schoolhouse stands ready, its path cleared, waiting for students to skip in from the cold.
The red town hall is festive all year round.
“Beware,” the railway crossing sign says with specific politeness.
Home for the holidays? I wish. (How retro that would be.)
The lamppost cheerfully lights people’s way.
The main street offers anything you might need.
High on the hill, a long-retired windmill stands strong and tall.
In my world, it doesn’t take much to make magic at Christmas.
A perfect way to start 2012, I would say.
. This book is stunning.
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