February Jewellery, or Snow from Six Floors Up

The light that seeps

Through curtain gap

Is pale and bright

And speaks of white.

It tells of cold,

But glitter too,

And as I stand

I see Jack’s hand.

The sun’s not up

But white’s the ground

And grey’s the sky:

More flakes will fly.

Untouched expanse,

From six floors up,

Monochrome quilt,

All smooth, no print.

And then the sun

Peers through cloud gap

And we have blue,

Silver and gold.

Now the blanket’s

Diamond clad

As sunrise grows.

The gold, it glows.

Such winter jewels

Do make me smile

And glad to be

Snug, warm, cosy.

Diana Bebby 10/02/2021

Winter Laundry

It must be Mother Nature’s annual laundry wash.

The cosmic eiderdown’s birthday.

She must save it all up for months.

Half the year she wears her green garb,

her floral finery,

‘til it goes drab and threadbare.

And then she washes it.

In Daz.

The sun did rise this morning,

and bright sunshine illumined the snowy moor.

Then an hour passed

and it was complete whiteout.

White blanket sky.

White quilted ground.

White sheets falling down.

The land’s pillows being fluffed for a new year.

Fat flakes drifting onto the already mattressy dunes.

Flakes so big they blocked the view,

they blocked the sun,

like silk-spun soap suds.

This elegant strength of water.

Two elements that can be so many things.

So graceful now

and beautiful.

Yet it can bring us to our knees.

This natural linen is radiant,

As if producing its own light.

An hour more and we have sun again.

And lots of happy dogs.

Diana Bebby 10/02/2021