Editorial
I must admit, there is something serenely infectious than holiday cheer. A small weakness of mine, perhaps. The carols, the decor, even the great red beast that visits and takes. They simply carry a spell with them, one I cannot – and do not try to – resist.
I could serenade the season, I could sing praises to the feelings, I could regale you with Dickensian prose the likes of which would have you wish Christmas was here all year. However, what more is there to be said? What is to be preached to the choir singing the very same praises? What should be?
It is a calmer matter for me. A time of well-deserved rest. A time to sit and drink of mulled mushroom wine and find myself lost in books and thoughts. The world is overjoyed as it is. The cheer is infecting me, not the other way around. It is enough, then, to sit, and to feel the joy around.
For there, perhaps, is still much to be joyful about.
Art of London
Neathy Arcana
by The Ranine Illustrator
News of Art, Art of News
Snow Covers Spite And Veilgarden – Yes, Snow!
In these the winter months, it is a most common sight to wake up to a sheet of white covering one’s front door, perhaps even blocking it to one’s utmost dismay. On the morning of 24th, however, a most novel experience awaited those who had found themselves in the streets of Spite or Veilgarden.
Instead of the usual white lacre, a substance not unlike snow were it not for the acidity, the air was much more chill. Much lighter. Yes, the lacre on the pavement, on the rooftops, on the lampposts, it was not lacre at all – but rather snow! Real, genuine snow!
It only took a few minutes for all gathered citizens to realize this fact, and afterwards, bliss was all around. Children and adults alike waded through ankle-deep snow; they cheered and sang and laughed as they built snowmen and started snowball fights. It was, it was clear to all, a Christmas miracle.
The source of this miracle did not take long to reveal itself. So far unnoticed by the delighted citizenry, carts stood on two squares, one in Spite, one in Veilgarden. Kind, grandmotherly women were selling hot chocolate and sweetened mushroom biscuits. The pink and violant sign above the cart-stalls read E_____’s Exquisite Snowbound Confections.
The shopkeeps kindly (of course) related to our reporters that Mr. E_____, the owner of E_____ Confectionary, has indeed imported snow and chocolate in great amounts to bring cheer and happiness to the citizens of London. The details of this act have, most unfortunately, eluded us, much like Mr. E_____ himself. That, however, does little to stop us from enjoying the generous gift.
The snow is still there, as are the stalls, as are the kind shopkeeps. ‘Tis the season to be jolly, dear London, so don’t be a stranger this holiday season.
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
Ah, ah, what do they take me for? I would much prefer power, yes. Or perhaps nonexistence. Not mine, you see. It would make the world much better.
S. B.
Dear S. B.,
Practice makes perfect. Where there is will, there is a way. Ah, to regale you with sayings does little, and nonetheless I nod along to your tune. You are right, after all, and it is of no use to ponder the darker varieties. May your armour shine in the face of darkness.
gooseygazette.art.blog 