Hello!
On a wintry day I went for a walk in Perpignan, which was becoming rapidly Christmas-fied. It was cold and grey and white and somehow magical, in a quiet kind of way.
Climbing through colours and space to find a hand to take.
A lone star hangs, mournful.
Blue sky and blue shutters.
Silver and gold, like ivy.
Many lost beacons sadly guide the way.
What is this strange green thing?
These hooded figures form part of the Sanch Procession.
A tiny, festive, impossible moment.
Chocolate, chocolate, chocolate!
Ladybirds scurry to pebbles they will never access as they are cut from different paper.
The tree stands proud, guards his wintry square while red brick glows.
A Christmas house, like those years ago in Whelley.
Three great orbs predict the midnight sun.
An elusive, perfect solar system hangs.
At the end of the tunnel, the tree.
The quadrilateral entrance to the world beyond.
Little red star, shining bright.
Magical mystery cactus.
Like a still life; an array of hopeful objects pose.
A Roman laurel will now crown a silver universe.
Skulking from the coldness outside.
What is this tepee on my pool? And these floating spheres?
History and future imprisoned, briefly.
Orbs, orbs, orbs.
The casting is underway.
Curls and crazy paving and a railway across the ceiling.
Suspended.
Happy parcel who has made the cut for winter scene celebrating with child in pool of half-light.
Grasping at air and something even he doesn't know.
A new, cold type of storm for the little ship to weather.
He sees by smell and smells sweet Perpignan.
Little frosty tree wants only to get through Christmas.
Tall, tall tree, awkwardly adjusting to his new role outside the cathedral.
I love all my trees but would prefer a cake.
Who took this poor clock's hands? Jack Frost?
Gaudy chandelier has his place between air and sky.
Starburst excited for first Christmas; will glow at her very best.
Faces of the Castillet have had enough of this Christmas lark.
Curls reach desperately for the tree that could make them the leaves they wish they had been.
Winged creature has seen many Christmases and wishes he could fly away.
The unveiling of a big shoe. Who will wear him?
The Christmas market beckons along the black river.
She knows she will be the most impressive tree when she is lit; just a little longer.
Tiny lights never get their close-up, but without them there is no festive time.
Someone with a bauble on their head yearns for rescue.
Very round giraffe just wants a home.
I hope you've enjoyed my ponderings on Perpignan in winter.
Thanks for reading,
Liz x
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