The year of blood stretched its weary limbs. Clots dripped in the half-light.
The new year of ice bared its teeth. They are mine now, the wind whistled. And they have done it all themselves.
But in one corner, one quiet corner, the green and yellow nestled. It would take time, a long time, and human touch and heat, but the blood and the winter would come to an end. That time was coming. Hope could be felt.
Until today, the winter has been a wet black dog. Now the dog is growing claws and shaking loose its skin. The white lion is soon to return.
Cool sun, sky ice light blue. Commuters puff out their personal clouds and frown knowingly. “It’s back then. Aye, here’s winter again.”
My talented pal Ross @bigblether drew the illustration below.
October strides in,
her fisted gloves of red gold leaves
holding the foreboding frozen heart of winter.
She kicks the trees with wild swings;
Their branches sway and leaves blow in her face like tears.
She strides on and, in the distance behind her,
The echoed howls of winter wolves grow louder.
Come sweet zephyrs of the southern seas,
Come flattering breaths of gentle gods to ease us on our way – No?
No, we must remember our place and it is here,
Remember our place and hirple head down into the teeth of the chill summer gale.
Edinburgh 01 June
End August Cromarty beach walk. Lemon sun shone through the salt-tang air. Over the horizon, beyond the rigs, winter breathed and shifted.
The riptide curled, waves crested and rolled, roiled up and over the lone rock in the stone grey sea, and the snow was gone.
simonsalento 