Frost-crisped grass, a glittering field
Of upturned blades, and the distant
Muffled swell of a choir singing.
Windows fogged with steam and
Lights blurred behind, flashing,
Pulsing, twinkling against the eye.
A brisk wind to chap the lips,
Noses red, feet stamping, hands
Thumping, scarfs wrapped tight.
Nights draw in but lights grow
Warmer, brighter. Chasing away
The coal bite, welcoming winter.
A song and a dance to while away
The longest, darkest hours. Hot
Spiced drinks to toast the soul.
White mornings with softly hissing
Snow, falling, falling, coating the
Earth, crunching underfoot and sled.
Esme Johnson
Article image courtesy of Marlis Börger via Flickr, image found here.
Image use licence here.
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