Gordon Greenall
Snow Down
- December 2001
Sleeping the night in silent spread Deep in dreams of winter dread. 'Till woken by a strange daylight Reflected from the snow - lay white. It lights the slowly waking room Like shafted beams from frosty moon. This magic winter wonder land Lasts till touched by human hand.
The snow around the wash house door Is tramped upon the kitchen floor. Melting, running water spread Fallen from an old boot tread. Patterns distorted - free to form Coral islands somewhere warm Or field resplendent in a barley crop Till scythed away by dampened mop.
Outside the snow's no longer neat Like starched linen clean bed sheet Nor even in the least Like surplice on the parish priest. Now resembling a frothing brew Shapeless - stained - no longer new Rusting flakes look uninviting - cold Like ferrous scrap waiting to be sold.
The ever shortening winter day Too quickly is forced to pass away From melting - slipping - slushy sound To crunching frost upon the ground. An arctic cloak of purple black Brings a chill across our back Takes control of walking feet And brings from them a slipping beat.
Down hard the frost is gripping strong Intent in tightly holding on. Then while we sleep a new surprise More snow falls with degrees of rise. Brightly laundered is the snow display Covering the once grey slush decay. Now round men grow from virgin snow To last till turned to water flow.