It was the glimpse of a frost iced field, where the
lowly sheep were lazily crunching on crisp grass,
that touched my heart and brought the memories
of chapped cheeks and gloves with holes where
the cold wind whistled and the promise of snow.
Snow that fell in lazy circles tasting of ice cream,
bearing the brunt of blizzards that filled the gullies,
and hedgerows hidden by drifts with holes where
wellington boots had reached the for the ground,
delighted laughter as the snow soaked their socks.
Headlong screaming on a home made wood sled,
that Father Christmas brought, and the thud of
snowballs against wet coats and the scramble
to roll the biggest snowman’s torso and the deft
heave of the body and a jaunty carrot nose head.
Faces aglow with the joy of cold hands and a
warm heart, snow knocked off boots in the yard
and coats shaken, and then the sharp pain as the
warmth of home sets blood flowing in the fingers.
The scent of baking potatoes and dumpling stew.
How will our grand children know how to tumble
and grumble in the cold snow as snowballs fly?
The soft sound of walking in snowy landscapes?
The crunch through silent lanes? the cancellation of
school? The sheer joy watching the first flakes fall.
Instead they watch the thermals rising, knowing
that the heat warming, fossil fuels are still burned
and being brought out to burn their liberty away, for
high temperatures are not for fun or running in frosty
times. Tears fall because it seems the desire for real