So – So Cold!
The dawn creeps in beyond the curtains – where the preparation drags with time,
A last residue of Imbolc – dispersed with age old knockings – adding rhythm to a rhyme!
On the strike of ten – there and precisely then – my chariot awaits in the chill,
We weave our threads with conversational heads and the greys sit low above the hill!
Running is the stream – like a familiar dream – nature’s morning soundtrack machine,
Provisions gathered in the wet and muddy tyre-track layby – what a setting for a scene!
On a farewell wave we take in the visions – reassuring are the horizons leading the way,
A real winter’s day as we tip-toe toward Spring – a biting wind out and about to play!
Over the rise and down to the gateway – where the still and silence meet,
Igniting the viewpoint with a flourish of pink – the Almond Blossom a resplendent treat!
The grass holds its water in the way of a welcome – through mole hills we wind on round,
Pausing for thought as we count our blessings – stepping forth onto sacred ground!
There’s a traditional circle living of the moment – with its swelling signs of life,
The trees they bud – in the cold and mud – with random purple Crocus running rife!
Snowdrops huddle around the Imbolc Stone – while other bulbs seek out their place,
The Primroses awakening under Lizzie’s Tree as they begin to show their face!
Mrs Blackbird ventures – through the Hawthorn hedge-line – darting there and back,
Robin digs for worms in the Roundhouse footprint – where foot-falls churn up the track!
The wind it swirls – in nipping thermal curls – encouraging the fire’s flames to dance,
I huddle for warmth from its majestic blaze – as we take up of the glorious chance!
Glentaowen begins the annual Dogwood haircut challenge – as I feed it to the heat,
I circle the fire-pit forking in the remnants – defrosting my nose – my hands and feet!
As the fire dies down I go capturing images – before second breakfast comes along,
Reflective we gather to partake of a sandwich and Robin returns to sing us a song!
The cold wind musters and turns up the volume – as the temperature starts to fall,
With the Dogwood bed completed so neat and tidy – it’s time to make a practical call!
I’m so – so cold – with the grip of winter’s hold – only half way through my day,
I am offered a partner for the long walk home – and there’s nothing more to say!
The fire it smoulders on a bed of embers – with wisps of smoke sailing on the breeze,
Passing the point of no regal return – feeling the chill and starting to freeze!
I take one final moment to picture the Fern Moss – as the Ancestors Altar wears its veil,
The Grove restored and secured – as we head through the gateway – out on to our trail,
Welcome is the warming of the walking motion – over the rise to take history’s turn,
Past familiar landmarks sparking over a decade of memories – how we live and learn!
There’s the old lean-to log store with its collection – of everyday artefacts fitting the bill,
The ancient orchard with its knotted trees – the wrapping of secrets to ponder at will!
We pass the covered wagon and its restoration – with its signage starting to fade,
Opposite what I think of as the furthest out post – a commitment the teacher’s son made!
There’s a friendly face taking lunch by the junction – and we pass the time of day,
We return to our journey beyond the wood of flowers – the distant view on full display!
A beautiful Buzzard it swoops and circles – I’m guessing a female with its shape and size,
We stop for a moment to take in the spectacle – what a feasting for the eyes!
Rounding the corner we stand on the verge – washing the mud from our boots,
Admiring the hedgerow and a smattering of trees – showing off their seasonal shoots!
We pass a little church set back from the road side – a village pathway for safety’s sake,
Spreading the word with their age old sign – luring the brainwashed with tea and cake!
Lightning struck trees stranded in the nearby fields where the Crows and Pigeons meet,
We pass the small row of dwellings mostly in single file – with the newest now complete!
As we pass on through we find the halfway markers and the pathway comes to an end,
We cut across the corner with its wide expanse of grass – as we wander round the bend!
We swerve a left then right – where the old barn sits tight – we rest on an old felled tree,
Restricting the access to the farmer’s field – with a spot to sit and rest for free!
We share the tales of our life – with the farmer’s wife – and we move on down the road,
Past the open field with its Willow stream – with its neat cut logs and stone by the load!
We wander up to the crossroads of the aging Stag bones – sparing a moment in thought,
With the instinct to cross – we pass over the Fosse – where the perfect view is sought!
Up through the corkscrew and on to the verge – where the Blackthorn blossom flowers,
We seek the path that has faded with time and neglect – but good for a couple of hours!
Over the rise and into the open – taking in the panoramic wrapped in grey,
Warming to my core – is what the journey was for – on such a cold and beautiful day!