Silent night; balmy night.
If you listen carefully in the warm dark, with your ear tilted down towards the well-drained raised vegetable patch, you can hear the November crop seeds cracking, and the creaking of the fat seed leaves as they start to unfurl and lift their points skywards, pushing out of the mud.
The December blossom has covered the fruit trees, just in time for Christspring, and on Boxing Day, we will take the sleepy hybrid honey bees from their hives to fertilise the rose and cream tree flowers so that we can be guaranteed of apples, pears and plums in June.
The constant, gentle rain has kept the ground heavy with water for almost two months, and at sunset the russet and gold rays reflect in countless seasonal ponds.
It is a wonder to watch flocks of small birds eating the clouds of insects that rise from the sodden fields. We will need to net and eat many of the fattened little fowl in February or March to make sure we we will have some fruit left to gather.
The fierce, destructive storms of August and October are long past, and it is now possible to tend ground with good drainage in anticipation of a magnificent Harvest in May before the yearly heatwaves send us all to the underground shelters.
Birdsong wakes us in this beautiful, calm world, where all motorised transport has all fallen silent, sunk under the urban lakes, along with the roads that carried them.
We used to live in architectural homes of brick and stone, far further South, but that time is gone, and now we live in homes we built with our own hands from waste wood, boulders and clay and straw.
We have had to adapt, learn to live with new waves of strangers escaping the unbearable Southern heat.
We have had to grow new forests as well as new social order.
We have had to lose so much, but we live in a still beautiful Earth, and each day gives more peace as we learn how the new Climate works.
I wish you all a Happy and Hopeful Christspring, season of new life and rich promise.