I wrote this one in October to enter a competition on the theme of winter. (Didn’t win, of course)

An English Mid-Winter

I still can’t see the paths in the woods

That were covered with green and brown

And orange and palest yellow

That appeared all at once on a night of nearly frost,

And crunched damply underfoot

And smelled of musk and honey.

They are black now and oozy underfoot.

It’s an effort to walk - step and slide back.

The air hints at snow, but it’s a promise unfulfilled.

I smell wetness, and a whiff of chimney smoke.

Families gather in cheery indoor light,

While I duck and slither past black, bare branches.

There is a holly, with silver-skinned bark.

Its leaves catch all the light from that grey, lowering sky

And throw it back to me.

It stands proud and green, glowing,

And reminding us of the greenness

That is merely waiting to come again.