I found these tiny Firethorn leaves in a hedge at the edge of the field where my children were sledging. The field only barely escapes being wasteland, a steep hill between two council estates that is usually bordered with wide swathes of bramble. With the thorns smothered under piles of snow, I could walk right to the edges where the gardens begin, and this Firethorn had spilled over into the wilderness, a small flare of colour I could see from far up on the hill. I walked down through the drifts and made a perfect circle of green and red on the snow, and in the distance I could hear my children laughing and shrieking as they slid down the hill over and over again. Our own little circle of perfection. The snow was crisp underfoot and the sun was streaming over the houses and tower-blocks behind us as I crouched over my little circlet of leaves, their colours so perfect and glowing between the snow and the sun... and I thought to myself... what a wonderful world!
