When the fireworks fizzle out this evening and Bonfire Night has gone up in smoke for another year all the minor winter people's festivals will be over and the next stop will be Christmas.
Just seven or eight weeks to go the main event glisters on the horizon like a sapphire.
Often when I think of my childhood my mind homes in on Christmas. It was the defining moment of the year, every year. The Sixties and my parents made me who I am for sure but Christmas was the battery that switched me on.
I was never religious nor am I now but the month of December knocked all the other festivals into a cocked hat. There's just something, a warm whisper that starts in Advent building like a coal fire until the morning of the 25th when it's full power is felt at the cold cap of the year.
This year will be special as it will be our Grandson's first Christmas. After 41 days in hospital he's home now.
Like me he was born too early and in winter and so will be a tiny bundle for his debut, which he won't remember but should still sense the cozy glow of the fairy lights on the tree flickering through the dark. A baby in his Moses basket seems to me to be the very essence of the hopeful season.
And so, with our compass set to North we turn our faces to the cold and look towards the Christmas yet to come, a bundle of dreams and revelations slowly but surely being gift-wrapped at the Pole by hands far gentler than our own.
What do you wish for this Christmas readers?