A COUNTRY DRIVE IN FEBRUARY
Swathes of dense fog sweep the fields as I set off for home
Their eerie cloak masking the car in a haze of grey-green
The ceaseless mechanics of daily life rhythmically drone
From a neighbouring farm comes the whir of a loading machine
The brave sun is piercing through low banks of threatening cloud
Caressing the trees with a patchwork of dazzling hue
The frozen beck seeps a dank odour, as stale as a shroud
My senses are suddenly heightened, awareness renewed
Chilled through to the bone I am desperate for comforting heat
My fingers turn painfully blue and my cracked lips are sore
As I shake my numb limbs to send blood flow again to my feet
I taste breakfast’s bounty rise up in my gullet once more
The steaming hot coffee and cranberry smoothie were good
My mouth salivates for that wonderful honey on rye
The tension builds fast and I steer a safe course through the wood
Alone in this desolate dreamworld between earth and sky
Margaret Royall 