Red ranunculus have become a Christmas staple in my house. I love to see how tiny and delicate they are, then watch them open up large and bold and happy. Here in this bouquet they are still tiny and freshly cut. I will sit in anticipation of their unfolding. It reminds me a bit of the hope of Christmas.
Today was not only a day for the first red ranuncs of the season, but also a day of great fog. Dickensian fog, I felt.
"It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside, go wheezing up and down, beating their hands upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the pavement stones to warm them. The city clocks had only jut gone three, but itw as quite dark already -it had not been light all day- and candles were flaring in the windows of the neighbouring offices, like ruddy smears upon the palpable brown air. The fog came pouring in at every chink and keyhole, and was so dense without, that although the court was of the narrowest, the houses opposite were mere phantoms. To see the dingy cloud come drooping down, obscuring everything, one might have thought that Nature lived hard by, and was brewing on a large scale." -Charles Dickens, "A Christmas Carol"
Christmas is not Christmas without "A Christmas Carol" in any and all forms. Jim Carey, the Muppets, hardback books... I'll take them all!
Portland fog, and our weekly arrangement: