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Neck well swathed in scarf,
hands plunged in pockets?
Collar pulled high,
hat tugged low?
Off you go, then, down the long slope
to where the pale winter sun never penetrates.
The frozen grass, glittering with reflected light,
crunches under your boots.
Run a hand along the fence to see a battalion of frost soldiers crumple.
Lick the cold particles from your fingers,
and take a long sniff of the freezing air,
pungent with bare earth and stone,
as dry and prickly as a holly leaf - the smell of winter,
down in the frost hollow.
Christoper Somerville
Nice picture nice poem
ReplyDeleteLove the picture - I'm afraid Worcestershire has just been 'squelchy' for days! Best Wishes for 2013, Jx
ReplyDeleteNice picture, but sadly not representative of British weather just now. The smell of Winter 2012 is probably mildew!
ReplyDeleteHappy New Year Elaine, and many thanks for all of your fascinating posts. Jx
ReplyDeleteVery evocative. Happy New Year! Flighty xx
ReplyDeleteHow I'd love to walk down that road, all wrapped up against the frosty weather instead of squelching in wellies with wet coats and brollies which seem to be constantly drying against the radiators here. Happy New year to you and yours:)
ReplyDeleteA lovely poem and new to me. I knew exactly what the write meant. Happy New Year Elaine.
ReplyDelete