Damp Fenland Morning

   Dark damp soil lays still over the fenland this morning, rains fell all night and still black clouds hang above the tigers of the east, no winds to dry the land on this day of worship, no sun to brighten this magical world of marsh and reed just damp still air that saddles the droves and drains alike.
   The first few coils of smoke rise from terracotta chimney pots on low roof while wood burners glow, golden hedgerows line the fens like guilded picture frames and this bead maker enjoys his moring tea while thoughts of Christmas beads ride his mind.

   The dark rich green of Holly walks from his kiln with red ripe berry, the festive signs that start so early for the bead makers, while fen folk boat and fish for eel this man of fire will work his flame once more and beads of cheer he will give to that box of heat that glows beside him warming his soul on these such days.