Winter is full of slanting light, that breaks through the chill. In the school holidays, the little one and I  once again take time together.

She is awaiting a visitor from across the sea and across the hemispheres.

Her other granny is immigrating from China.

We play together on the afternoon of the arrival. But the light that has been bathing us gently this week, nudging our awareness into hope of a change of season, has dived under the bed clothes overnight. Without it, there is nothing left but fog, wrapping around the city, thick and damp. The granny’s plane is diverted to Christchurch, and there she waits for five hours as the afternoon ticks by.

 How to greet a granny who has been greeted by fog?
Why, you make cards and prepare gifts.
Here is a pot of stem ginger cookies and some sachets of soy sauce. Rosemary is for remembrance, and this is a day she will always remember, arriving in a new country where she doesn’t speak the language. The little one has been teaching her English: ‘I think I taught her “thank you”‘, she tells me.
The mandarin is a joke that probably won’t translate, but I tell the little one, ‘I’m giving her a mandarin because she speaks Mandarin’, and she chuckles.

Flowers need no translation. I drive the little one to the family home where we gather around the meal table for dinner. The little one, her mother, and her granny chatter away in Mandarin with much excitement, the fog forgotten. My son and I exchange words in English. The little one, sitting between her two grannies, translates when we wish to say something to one another.

Even though winter clings on and the change of season is dragging its heels, life keeps on bringing newness. I wouldn’t want it any other way.