A WINTER’S JOURNEY

Driving northwards, driving homewards, we pass

inundated pasture – mercurial

in shape and colour – its sheen reflecting

the late morning’s rare roseate sky.

Bared trees and bushes are a dull amber.

 

In time, cloud cover becomes leaden –

then snow falls: the downy flakes like weightless

seeds, which the windscreen wipers flail clear

again and again. The empty fields fill,

remorselessly, as early evening comes.

 

Miles on, the snow no longer falls. It has

settled. The ancient, snow-filled woods are lovely,

luminous. How soon we will be home

in warmth and light! How far we have come in love!

 

 

 

 

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6 Comments
  • Tricia Durdey
    December 29, 2017

    Very beautiful images in all these poems, and a kind of simplicity in the telling that speaks clearly.

    • David Selzer
      December 30, 2017

      Receiving praise is always good – especially when it highlights what one is trying to do. Thank you.

  • Ian Craine
    December 30, 2017

    The first paragraph in particular reminds me of car rides with my parents in the dead days after Christmas (they were back then). We’d be driving back from Farndon and the fields would be dotted with extensive wet patches, immense puddles. We’d pass silent farmhouses and barns and a place called Crewe, the second of that name in the County of Chester.

    • David Selzer
      December 31, 2017

      I can see the three of you now along that road.

  • Ashen Venema
    December 31, 2017

    The sky in Surrey darkens as I read your poem, which shows a lovely moment of surprise, like the other morning, when my garden sparkled white, for a few hours. Having lived through many winters of deep snow in Bavaria, I always rejoice in the beauty, no matter how short-lived.