Wednesday 8 February 2012

On Ice




Temperatures plummet, water freezes, the ground hard as stone. Snowfall. Redwings in the garden, severe weather warnings on the radio; buses, trains and aeroplanes cancelled. The roads haven't been gritted.
Lying in darkness, listening to silence.
The long cold winter of sixty-three. Of forty-seven. The drifts that reached up to the bedroom windows. Slides and snowmen and snowballs and sledging. Clearing the paths, pulling together.
Standing.
Slipping.
Falling.

Together.

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