Tag Archives: winter
She strides confidently towards her car, a child’s scooter held in one hand. She holds it above her head, where a multicoloured bobble wobbles on her woolly hat.
The trunk stands straight against the stone wall, knobbly branches wriggling out. Bare as the winter wind, a skeleton exposed. Forced into unnatural lines, yet nature still prevails, in the willful waviness of the wood.
Blank and uniform by day, the tiny squares shine brightly through the dusk. Curtains not yet drawn against the darkness, these multicoloured jewels transform winter’s blackness into a festival of light.
Skeletal winter trees against a darkening sky. Their topmost branches seem dipped with bright, rust-orange light, uniform and unmoving. The sun leaves us with a final flourish, as it moves on to start again, a world away.
Bottle-blonde hair and bright red lipstick. Dancing along the street, her mouth moving in a song. Our eyes and smiles meet. She sings louder – happy on a sunny winter morning.
The creamy-milk winter sunlight pushes through the morning mist. It floods a group of shadow-puppet trees on the horizon with a gentle torchlight, making them glow.
In Autumn, it gladly shed its discarded leaves, stretching its skeletal arms, relishing the lifting of the burden. But now, in Winter, it flexes its ghostly fingers in the wind, beckoning the Spring.