A Walk in the Snow

White snow, blue sky, black trees, hoar frost.

The bride of Nature is dressed in white from head to toe
and she is calling the tune.
Miles and miles of white, her train is a work of art
and her icicles parade decoratively from the branches.
Across the edge of the frozen river
the Sun picks out the jewels that sparkle on the moor.

It is a day to pause as we put our extra layers on
and other layers are peeled away, like the dour reserve
of adulthood as our eyes widen, our faces glow
and we smile as our childhood selves are found beneath.
I want to be Heidi on a Swiss mountain
and I do not stroll or saunter, I simply tread and tread
and joy fizzes up through my woollen socks and my boots;
up and up, all the way to my heart.
My dogs gallop with white moustaches
as they race and taste the drifted snow,
just right in its pure crunchiness.

Dear Mr Media,
don’t make a crisis out of this season
for it is a gift of special days,
a drama rare enough to rise above
and we can all become as players on its stage.
It’s only winter once a year
and at least the rain has left us for a while.

Back home now at the cottage door
my stone angel is white-capped as she sits and blesses me.
Still deep in her book and deep in snow as well.

White snow, blue sky, black trees, hoar frost.


Cait O’Connor