Winter’s Bridge
Don’t you think the coppered leaves
Swing boating in the damp air
Are treasure, rare?
Can you hear the kestrels cry
As they swoop above the mornings mist
Isn’t it rich with promise?
Have you seen the drooping Bryony
Thin stemmed and weeping
Their bright-berried beading??
Can you smell the wet earth
Decaying under wind-swept skies
Tree roots delving in the fruity soil
And burrowing insect life?
Don’t you think the ancient oak
Bare branched in the biting storm
Stands, a mighty form?
Isn’t the shock of frost cracking
The slap of cold air at night-fall
A moving memorial?
Isn’t the strike of rain on hard ground
The fall of hooves on frozen stone
A percussive encore of land and bone?
Here at the end of the season
Joy still held like a breath
Ice keeping life in a moment
Of contemplation and death
Stealing through valleys and hillsides
Gardens, field hedge and old lanes
Moving from a ripe maturation
Concealing new life in its pain.
Soon you will see the Spring coming
The revival of field once flood-drowned,
Listen to the song of birds busy building
Feel the give underfoot of soft ground
Sense the quickening of life in water
Flowing with purpose renewed
Wonder at the bounty of changing season that
From this place on this bridge you can view.
©JulietB 2021