Whether you celebrate the Winter Solstice, Christmas, Yule, all three, or none of these at all, there is something so very magical about these darkest days of the year. I try not to bemoan the gloomy skies and lack of light, because I do so adore the early glow of the streetlights, the scent of woodsmoke in the air, the flicker of candles and the cold evenings curled up under a blanket with my knitting in front of the fire.
I am documenting the year with monthly photographs of my kitchen table. Capturing the jumble that accumulates here, at the heart of the kitchen, is also a way to record some of the domestic stories of our family life.
It was like stepping into a perfect wintery dream. The deep green scent of eucalyptus floated amongst the flickering lights of a hundred candles. Evergreen garlands hung from the brick walls and twirled gently in front of the raindrop-glittered windows.
The ruby red carpeted staircase in our apartment building smelled of incense. Or perhaps it was expensive soap. As I ran down it each morning, on my way to buy breakfast from the boulangerie at the end of the road, I could almost imagine that I was a Parisian lady heading out early one morning, and leaving behind me my elegant apartment with its shelves of philosophy books, shiny piano and red geraniums in the window box .