As winter unfolds itself upon us,
sunk into thick coats, we become numb moles.
The world is stark naked, undressed,
bleakness seeps to our bones, through to our souls.
Trees raise bare fingers, scratching at the clouds,
to exhume the sun from a sunless sky.
Hedges are dark caterpillars, crawling the fields.
Hazel nuts crack, dry tinder for the pyre.
While we see an earth denuded and only drabness,
bruised pregnant skies let loose their load,
swollen rivers break their icy waters,
unbeknown, there’s quickening underground.
Within the frail leafless twig lies the bud,
what will be most fragrant, lies in the mud.