Winter has many moods. Most of them are beautiful!
This sleeping time of the flowers is frequently likened to an aged and decrepit man, chilled with the weight of years …But the similitude is far from perfect. Winter might better be compared to a beautiful but cruel maiden, with dusky tresses and a marble face, and eyes that flash with storm cold or darken into sullen weeping, and then again, shine with icy brightness …that makes the whole world freeze with terror. She is a goddess who looks her loveliest and smiles her sweetest when her heart is revelling in the destruction of all the woodland life that once flourished under the mild reign of her rival, Summer. Desolation follows where she breathes, but after that…there remains a beauty that is most rare of all.
Mina Raleigh, 1896
Bit like the opening narrative of a scary 19th century drama that draws you in and you just can’t turn away from. Not only for the intrigue but also because despite the current fear, there is the undercurrent confidence that in the end, all will be well. You know…And they lived happily ever after 
This piece from the Irish Monthly, is right in keeping with the the fascination I have always harboured for dark English romance novels of yesteryear. Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier being one of my favourites!
“Last night I dreamt I went back to Manderely…”
Riveting writing but probably branded in my memory by the stunning performance of Dame Judith Anderson as Mrs Danvers in the black and white 1940 Alfred Hitchcock movie. According to voodoodarling, the casting call went out for a pale skull face set with hollow eyes; a mask of horror. Pretty much nailed it I’d say
(And just an aside, this notable and well awarded actress originated from my hometown, Adelaide. Talented city this one!)
Anyhoo, the rom-drams I’m drawn to seemed always to be set in the mystic setting of the white cliffs of Dover or stormy shores of Cornwall. Lots of mist, shadow and threatening soundtrack. Ooo, love a bit of drama
Tinerate, can always imagine the heroine and her beau (I’m such a relic ) dining against a backdrop of winter splendour…
That is, until the story end…
The road to Manderley lay ahead. There was no moon. The sky above our heads was inky black. But the sky on the horizon was not dark at all. It was shot with crimson, like a splash of blood. And the ashes blew towards us with the salt wind from the sea.
Till next time.
Tipsy Pipsy xo