Who’da thunk it? Monday’s Moan was no sooner written, lamenting the more southerly areas of the UK’s distinct lack of snow, than Tuesday comes round, thumb on nose and waggling its fingers at me. For today is officially, if not a school-deemed Snow Day off, then at the very least can be called ‘snow-covered’. No mere fragile and dusty mantle either, but rather an event of big, glorious, deliciously fluffy flakes. Even the dogs had a good frolic this morning, wet little noses like black cherries topped with piles of icy whipping cream (and, for the small one, a beard draped in cloying clumps of white, my own little Santa Claus).
These types of days demand (somewhat mental) background music, a soundtrack for the 24 hours, equally soft and crystalline in tone. I return, therefore, to Spotify’s brilliant playlist, “Music for Concentration”, and select for today’s poetic inspiration the following:
Woke from dreams into a dream,
this day so white; not right, too bright.
Colourless (but I dream in colours,
rich and vivid) – this,
too bleak for words, and yet
swift shapes fly across, above. Black,
shadows of crows; brown,
fluid earthy silhouette of wrens.
The eye, awoken, catches against grey cloak
of sky the winged dance of creatures
liberated from the trudge, falling
free of the noisy clump and startling crunch:
too real. Not real enough.
Ghostly branches, ghostlier figures
dashing like infant spectres, too quick
to follow, eyes unaccustomed to wan landscape,
too changed. Then the caw,
echoing warning of memory: awake.
[Copyright N R Nolan © 2015]