We like Autumn, Winter, and Spring.

We like the way in Autumn it feels like each tree has its own fireplace, licks of flame dancing on the branches before they float down to the ground.

We like the harshness of Winter, the cozy comfort of tucking ourselves away as the wind howls and the rain lashes.

We like the promise of Spring as the flora and fauna emerges from hibernation; the flowers start to blossom and new life embraces the sunlight.

We love the Summer; the swell of heat rolling through the day, and the night breeze in a star- filled sky. The summertime means no alarm clocks, no waking up in the dark. Summer mornings are an easy rhythm of the sun gently teasing us out of slumber.

I’d walk over to the window and welcome the sun rising on the horizon. There were fields as far as the eye could see, small coppices of trees dotted the landscape for wildlife and firewood.

One morning the sun rose, but it didn’t reach into our bedroom. It was mid-summer, but we woke to a darkened room, as if a shroud had enveloped our home.

Sleepily, I headed to the window and as I gazed out, a wall of rock blocked my view.

 “Think you better take a look at this,”  I said. As I waited for Kara to climb out of bed and join me, I opened the window and the wooden frame hit the rock.

I leaned out and as far as I could see in every direction there was rock. An infinite slab of grey blocked out the sun. Not a rumble or a quake had woken us as this mountain appeared overnight.

Kara padded over from the bed.

“The roses!’ she exclaimed, as she realised what had happened.

We made our way downstairs and straight outside. The mountain had appeared behind the house, but from the front you could now see its boundaries off in the distance.

The peak pierced a thin layer of clouds that had formed around the summit. Yet, despite its monolithic properties, there was something altogether charming about our new neighbour.

Standing next to me, Kara had her hands on her hips and slowly shook her head. I heard her softly tutting.

“What a waste of good flowers,” she said as she turned to reach for the watering can.

We spent the day repositioning our plants, moving them further from the house, so they’d at least get the afternoon sun. In the evening, we explored the mountain, walking along its  sides looking for anything to suggest where it’d come from, or why it was here.

We had dinner out on the grass, staring up at its peak, as snow gently fell on its slopes. Mountain goats appeared out of nowhere and started climbing and frolicking. Kara saw them off with a cane when they started eating her cabbages.

We went to bed that night and Kara asked me to get a blanket,  The sun hadn’t warmed up the house. I tucked her in and soon heard the rhythmic breathing of her sleep. As I began to drift off, I got a sense of the room lightening, I opened my eyes and moonlight was pouring in.

“When I was in nursery school and the teachers got tired, they’d sit me in front of the class and I’d make up stories I’ve never stopped.” Stuart Christianson

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