No snow today, sadly, where I live
up on the hill a few feeble flakes
fly on a frisky breeze
ghosts of winters past.
Still, I find comfort in the crisp cold,
wrapped in warm clothes
yet not wholly insulated
from the rasp of raw elements
recurrently connecting me
with the same
Walking on, I relish
the firmness of the frozen earth
beneath my feet, no longer mud-sliding,
as they carry me, unconsciously
to Sadness Copse, which is
strewn with recent memories:
fire-blackened cinders, manoeuvred logs
and the familiar, familial
A place of refuge, where
I once went
to salve our sadness
with the balm of companionship.
Today - alone, snowless, sad -
I’m consoled instead
by the stark, leaf-stripped trees,
the ice-cold clarity of the air
and the tiny tips of emerging bluebell buds.
I’m minded, and reminded, to believe
That whilst friends still have their place,
In this place, I’ve founded a friend.