It’s so clear today as I walk the dogs… the air seems to have been cleaned of all impurities, as it sucked up and scrubbed through a giant filter. It smells cold, and catches the back of the throat; a sharp, tangy sensation.
The sun’s going down and the day’s almost done… fires being lit in the village, sending smoke rising to hit the inversion layer and spreading out to form ever changing shapes; like monsters or mythical beasts of antiquity.
I can smell a spicy, pungent scent on the breeze… it confuses my mind. These are the smells of winter; woodsmoke, fungi, frost and rotting leaves. But also the fresh whiff of spring I feel on the softest of northern winds.
What herbs grow here you’d never know… they’re all covered with frost and bits of slushy snow. Pray gods I do not need more than I harvested last autumn for my store. For now’s a time for seeing not for searching.
It’s cold down in the bottom of the valley… the sun here never shone, and the earth is solid as a stone; grass crispy and white with the last of winters breath. Already though growth is stirring, bulbs poking through the solid earth.
The sun now set, but still there’s light… the night not ready to intrude. The afterglow persists and not a cloud in the sky to rob the light, mountains give back what light there is; like an over exposed photo holding off the dark.
And as I walk back up my street… through windows I can see people eat. And sit and watch the TV… or build the fire. Maybe go and fetch a beer. So time to go back through my own gate… and brew a tea and eat some cake.
I don’t tend to like writing dead verse. I don’t consider this a poem; it’s just my thoughts from walking around my normal herbarising area today: They just happened to all be about the same length and sometimes fit into a sort of dodgy doggerel…
Categories: Out and About