A seasonal illustrated poem by Maneesha
Late afternoon, and I hear a sudden change:
Rain’s fragile sister – silently, in slow motion –
snow, descending.
The dog demands to be outside.
Hurries, ears pricked, along the whitened balcony,
Stops, looks about her cloaked territory, perplexed;
Sniffs an odour-less reality; then shifts her gaze
upwards and barks,
affronted: This strange eraser of the everyday!
The wood once bluebell carpeted,
and later, thickly golden leaved:
now host to trees pared down
to trunk and limb. A solitary grey.
and unadorned, almost, for some are
lichen clad and
some bear necklaces of
ivy inching upwards, endlessly
crisscrossing. From sodden branches,
lustrous pearls suspended.
This morning scarved, encased in coats and wellies,
still I gasp as cold nips its way along my neck,
grabs greedily at fingers and fiercely pummels my face.
The dog bounds, exuberant, ahead, while my
tentative feet test stony steps and wend their way
through slippery, knotted undergrowth. Wind buffets
me like a playful elder brother. The relentless,
whipping rain: I catch my breath, my heart pumps madly.
Laughter! Never did it feel so good,
this body: so great to be alive in!
Poem and photographs by Maneesha
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