We see this kind of snow so rarely in the UK that everybody in blogland is feverishly snapping away. For days now the landscape has been breathtakingly beautiful; no matter that the country's infrastructure is buckling under the weight of snow and ice, that schools are closed, that industry and commerce are losing millions, that traffic on the roads, the railways and in the air has slithered and slid almost to a halt, that some rural shops are running out of provisions,
we are having fun!
New Year Snow
For three days we waited,
A bowl of dull quartz for sky.
at night the valley dreamed of snow,
lost Christmas angels with dark-white wings
flailing the hills. I dreamed a poem, perfect
As the first five-pointed flake
that melted at dawn:
A Janus time
to peer back at guttering dark days,
trajectories of the spent year.
And then snow fell.
Within an hour, a world immaculate
as January's new-hung page.
We breath the radiant air like men new-born.
The children rush before us.
As in a dream of snow
we track through crystal fields
to the green horizon
and the sun's reflected rose.
Frances Horovitz 1938-83
click on photos to enlarge