In Britain, the world walks at Christmas, we too, we do our wee walk, to shed off, the Plätzchen, the Stollen, the things inbetween, leave house, all, of us, the roast, in the oven, up, the hill, the Battlehill, where nobody, knows, of the battle, what was it?, who did it? when was it?, no worries, no battle here now, they are elsewhere, Tigray, Ethiopia, Syria, Congo, Iraq, Eritrea, Somalia, this Christmas, but, the trees, the storm, the Arwen, all fallen, criss, cross, like Mikado, the great stick game, Climate scientists, have predicted, an increase, in extreme weather, as global temperatures rise, heat waves, droughts and floods, winter storms too, more normal, more frequent, more severe, our Battlehill, a gauntlet run, hi, hi, merry Christmas, all Huntly-ites out, for their Christmas walk, over, and under, the arwened trees, I carry, the baby, in rucksack, what, does he think, of this world, we leave him, into, with all the winds, the trims, the many things. He cries, I hand over, we go back, down, down.

Häppy Christmas!