Whim Wood

August 11, 2019

into the coppery halls
of beech and intricate oak
to be close to the trees
as they whisper together
let fall their leaves,
and we die for the winter

Katherine Towers

one of those March days

March 13, 2019

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold; when it is summer in the light and winter in the shade…

Charles Dickens
Great Expectations

It was also pissing down with rain: a torrential deluge of biblical feckin’ proportions. The windows awash; pedestrians rushing by like big black birds dripping rain. Time to take up boat building, for sure –

Peedeel
Tuesday 12th March 2019


Be the sky.
Breathe but never count your breaths.
The wind is free,
Infinite.
It will dissipate the morning mists –
But remember winter is inevitable,
Cling to your dreams –
Give love,
Just love.
That is everything.

winter and fall

November 17, 2018

I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape — the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn’t show.

Andrew Wyeth
Autobiography

Morning all

October 18, 2018

Slight chill in the air today. This morning seems kissed by winter beckoning to us from very near at hand, October into November. The sky above, overcast, exhales a pale mist of rain over everything.

The Snow Queen in Eden

August 21, 2017

Boots crunch ice

She crosses the ice orchards at night
pausing to pick, from black trees
the brittle bodies of frozen birds.

Later, she will shake out her long hair by the fire
a thousand melting stars falling loose
and her hands will burn my skin.

My queen’s tongue tastes like razors –

She has devoured her magic mirror
and I have not the power to defy a woman
with a mouth full of glass.

There was a time we gathered wildflowers
and carried them to the edge
and threw them in the River That Eats Memory.

I wrung out my heart in those waters
but still, something clings –
her long fingers tossing petals, a sandal strap, sunlight.

But the river devours and mirrors cut
I spit blood in the bright snow
and comb my lady’s hair with numb fingers.

Laid out on fur coats, I dreamt of a river
where we washed out our hearts,
as winter eats the corners of the world.

Selena Bulfinch

whiter than snow

January 10, 2017

snow

We travelled north on an icy February morning on the train from Euston, through a landscape touched by Jack Frost. Woods, fields and hedgerows. A blinding crystalline white etched against a blue sky. The hoar frost shimmered whiter than snow, each leaf and twig, the frozen grass. Motionless white. The hills and valleys hallucinated. I only saw this once, except on postcards. The beams of the February sun, brighter than midsummer, melted the crystals, and by the time we reached Manchester it was a memory. There is no way we could describe what we saw, it would be as impossible as describing the face of God.

Derek Jarman
Chroma

Winter

June 2, 2016

snowscape

the angel had no memories
the angel sat in the huge tree
high up in the huge tree

this angel with its massive wings
folded

this angel with its massive folded wings
covered in hoarfrost

pessimism and narcissism go together I
just wanted you to know

for example I refuse to go to the holiday office party
*
although we pretended we could
we in fact could not see the visiting angel

we saw only a shaft of light in winter
we saw only some winter light
the kind of light you most often see in winter

Michael Earl Craig

Winter

October 15, 2015

tortoise in the fridge

We keep the tortoise in the fridge through the winter.
We buy our shopping from the corner shop on the way
home from work, as and when we need it. We dry our
washing on radiators. We pick chillies from the medusa chilli
plant on the kitchen windowsill. We listen to the same CD
over and over for days, weeks at a time. We eat chilli most
nights. We take it in turns to wash up. We talk a fair bit
with the curtains closed. We talk about your ex lovers.
We talk about chelonian hibernation and substrates.
We sometimes talk about sphagnum moss. We check the
tortoise, although we don’t really know what it is we are
checking. You put an extra blanket on our bed. We sleep.

Ruby Robinson

Winter

August 17, 2015

flashing at window

I wish the leaves of spring would come
and clothe the tree that now is bare
and hide the woman opposite
who walks round in her underwear.

Such nice black underwear it is
and yet I wish the leaves would grow
as, when I waddle back and forth
in ragged Y Fronts, she must too.

Jamie Davies