The Warm Side of Winter

A poem about snow, stillness, and choosing the window over the road.

Whenever it snows I always feel as if I should go out and enjoy the soft, white stuff. I always feel as if I should grab my camera and see what magical images I can capture. Today, I didn’t. I was far too warm and cosy to want to venture out in the -1°C. Instead I decided to catch up with some admin. But I didn’t. I wrote this poem instead.

And here’s a nice wintery photo I took (the next day) in the village.

Window-Framed Wild

There’s snow on the road,
the hills,

rooftops.

There’s a wind-swept landscape
window-framed
where a dozen crows warm their feet
on chimneys.

Winter 
was forecast. The larder 
is full.

Trying to survive the cold,
a sparrow
hunts the crumb, the berry –

anything 
is everything
to the keen eye
of a small beak.

There’s nothing I’ll scrawl here,
that’ll put me out there – boots, scarf,
gloves, a weatherproof coat…

I feel composed,
anchoured.

The clock’s knitting a cardigan
of sharp sounds, 
a cinnamon roll warms my thoughts, 
a whippet sleeps, 
screens flicker.

I have more than I need
and a window,
to hold me this warm side
of a wind-swept
wild. 

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