It was Christmas Eve, and the father and daughter had arrived at the streetlamp which marked the turning point of their walk. They often sat on the bench here and the daughter wanted to keep the custom, so insisted her father Jan, remove his scarf, and place it on the frost stippled bench.
“We must be comfortable papa, if you are to tell me a story,” said Livia folding her arms around Jans.
It was twilight and the crisp air sank slowly between the dank, crazed silhouettes of trees and sentry-like lampposts that lined the pathway into the distance.
“This is a story of how an angel, or a geest brought a hungry spirit back to life.”
Livia leant away from her father, looked up at him and said: “I like the sound of it already. Carry on papa, I won’t interrupt again, unless you ask me to,” she said, snuggling back under his arm. Jan smiled and continued.
“In the heavenly fields of Elysium, some spirits feel an intense yearning to seek the white flamed moon. The light from our lunar guardian weaves into their dreams and tugs at their hungry souls until, unable to resist any longer, they leave the golden meadows and ride the white capped crest of winter, back to earth.
Once here, these spirits appear in many forms. Most of us, who spend our time…
