On the shortest, darkest, coldest day
We pulled on our winter socks
Under frozen skies of grey
We saw the flash of a winter fox.
As we walked out into the cold
And stepped on ice and dreamt of snow
We thought of Christmases of old
The holly and the mistletoe.
And for a while we saw the sun
Its rays like wings for all to see
Above the Earth when day was done
Like the angel on the Christmas tree.
Up on the hill where the sky was stitched with rain
and the clouds were as big as hands around the Earth,
we opened the gates to the abandoned church.
A padlocked latch, a tower emptied of bells,
inside stood a Christmas congregation of ghosts.
A finger of light, like a candle, shone on the wall.
Outside, our Great Grandfather lay waiting,
his wife at his side; Methodists both, but still,
we left stout at their grave, and chocolates too
and up against the stone, we leaned a wreath,
fifty years since they last hung one on the door,
all the hopes of the world hanging on a rusting nail.
My six year old son Noah and I are self confessed LEGO and Star Wars addicts. Most Saturday mornings we are to be found in a sea of plastic bricks spread out on a purple blanket making all manner of things while sipping coffee. Like most parents though, I’m terrified of toy shops for the price of the box sets – the LEGO B-Wing Fighter costs £199 for goodness sake. My car only cost a few pounds more. In the spirit of make do and mend therefore, we have attempted to build the whole of the Star Wars universe out of common or garden bricks found in our own LEGO box. So that means recreating Imperial Walkers and X-Wing fighters from bits of Fire Station, castle and snack bars. It’s much cheaper and much more fun. Save yourselves £££ and give it a go!
christopher james 