Perhaps it's because of my Scottish roots and the joy I found when playing outside in the winter. I still want to play outside - I want to be the first to walk on a patch of 'virgin' snow, I want to see my footprints, I want to scuff along and make a peculiar trail to follow, I want to look at other prints and muse what kind of creature walked that way?
I moved to the Cairngorm mountain region, to Kingussie, for my first job...my idea of heaven! Walking in the mountains and forests in all weathers, sledging down the slope near my cottage, learning to ski with the school's PE teacher, having an ice rink at nearby Aviemore.....bliss!
Normally I would be out on the Lancashire Fells in weather such as this, more so on clear crisp days when snow and ice is lying, but I am unlikely to encounter really bad conditions. I get my pack 'winter ready', with spare clothing, torch, head torch, emergency food, bivi bag, foil covers...it is heavy before I begin ! This year it remains at the ready, and I checked the dates on the emergency rations that I carry, just two days ago. It looks as if it will remain unused this season.
When I moved back to Scotland from Oxfordshire, where actually we sometimes encountered very hard winters, it was to the Moray Firth coast, which often has a kind climate. However, the winds were terrifically cold and snow did lie on the beach to the tidemark. I would insist on driving to the mountains to 'touch the snow' . We drove to Aviemore once a week to assist the resident skating coach and very often we were lucky to make it there and back in whiteout conditions!
Today's poem was written when I was 15..in 1965...
View from my Window
When I look from my window, I can see
The snow lying on every far away hill and tree;
But the grass peeps through the cold,
And the sky is blue and the sunset gold.
The wispy rain laden clouds fly past
To make room for the night coming fast.
Soon Jack Frost will spread his chilly hand
Over the grass - all over the land!
The men plod wearily homewards,
The birds fly fleetingly downwards
To their nests in the loft.
The chimneys are still smoking.
Today's poem was written when I was 15..in 1965...
View from my Window
When I look from my window, I can see
The snow lying on every far away hill and tree;
But the grass peeps through the cold,
And the sky is blue and the sunset gold.
The wispy rain laden clouds fly past
To make room for the night coming fast.
Soon Jack Frost will spread his chilly hand
Over the grass - all over the land!
The men plod wearily homewards,
The birds fly fleetingly downwards
To their nests in the loft.
The chimneys are still smoking.
But here's the rain it's soaking
Everything. And tomorrow when I wake
The snow will all be gone.
Thanks for reading, Kath
1 comments:
A good snowy read, Kath. Yes, I'm with you on the excitement of getting out in a fresh fall of the stuff, not only to stamp around in a sparkling world, but as you say to marvel at what other life-forms have been busy in it too - mostly birds, the occasional brave cat, a milkman. View From My Window is a sweet piece of juvenilia and you're certainly braver than me (who wouldn't dare air anything I wrote in my teenage years). I have a seventh sense that we've not seen the last of winter yet, so your pack may still have its day.
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