Lost Souls

Andy and I have adopted a ritual over the last four years of doing the same hike on New Year’s Day. Inevitably we get lost at some point during the walk and this year was no exception as we found ourselves on a three kilometre detour up a steep hill frustratingly near to home! It’s all part of the fun though and we always make a pit stop at the midway point, have a bite to eat and pay our respects to Dad and Lenny our cat as we scattered both of their ashes there beneath a special cherry tree. This year the weather became quite dark and gloomy as we ascended the hill, prompting me to write the following poem.

Late Winter

Winter’s waiting to arrive

The air is cold and bleak

and in the distance swiss horn sounds

vibrate through sombre peaks

A beard of fog scuffs through the sky

Perhaps a snow storm’s coming?

The chill streams from our windswept eyes

our foreheads both are numbing

Still fruit on trees, we’ve had no freeze

At least until this week

Now winter’s waiting to arrive

The air is cold and bleak

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