I noticed yesterday on my walk that though the daytime temperatures have not risen much above five degrees yet, the bird song is all spring songs and the quality of the light has changed quite distinctly.
I wrote the following poem a few years back after a rather haunting dream of being stalked by a polar bear….
The fields of endless white
Spread further than the eye can see,
Grim mountains of jagged grey,
Still clad in silken swathes of snow,
The air so crisp it tastes of glass
And fills my mouth with blood.
A scent of stones fills the air,
Old and cold as passing time.
The crunch of paws though ice,
Breath like steaming clouds,
A stench of passing death,
The brush of icy whiskers
As Winter’s bear retreats.
I stand alone on the snowfield,
The trickle of the starting thaw
A quiet chuckle at the passing
Of the season’s snow bear
And the merriment of the new.