Winter Stories – St John’s Day
The third day of Christmas in Swaledale arrives quietly, marked by St John’s Day, a day that has long been associated with storytelling and reflection. John, the storyteller among the apostles, reminds us of the power in slowing down, in pausing to remember and shape our experiences into stories that endure.
In my little corner of the Dales, this day begins not with ceremony but with simplicity. A steaming cup of coffee warms my hands. An open book waits for me, its pages offering a quiet refuge from the winter light outside. A few sweet treats lie within easy reach, tokens of indulgence on a cold day. Outside, the soft blur of lights from nearby homes and cottages glimmers through the frost-tipped window, a gentle reminder of life carrying on in the valley.
It’s in moments like these that stories find their home. Not the grand, dramatic tales, but the intimate, almost secretive ones we tell ourselves: memories of past winters, hopes for the year to come, reflections on days both ordinary and extraordinary. Winter, with its long nights and pale light, has always been the perfect season for this kind of quiet storytelling. It’s a time to read, remember, or simply hold a story for a while before passing it on to someone else, or carrying it forward quietly into the new year.
St John’s Day in the heart of Swaledale reminds us that the spirit of Christmas is not only in celebration but in reflection, in the stories we tell and keep, and in the gentle pause between one year and the next. Here, amid frost, soft lights, and the hush of winter, we find space to listen to the stories the season offers — stories that linger long after the day has passed.
