Driving northwards, driving homewards, we pass
inundated pasture – mercurial
in shape and colour – its sheen reflecting
the late morning’s rare roseate sky.
Bared trees and bushes are a dull amber.
In time, cloud cover becomes leaden –
then snow falls: the downy flakes like weightless
seeds, which the windscreen wipers flail clear
again and again. The empty fields fill,
remorselessly, as early evening comes.
Miles on, the snow no longer falls. It has
settled. The ancient, snow-filled woods are lovely,
luminous. How far we have come in love!
How soon we will be home!