1424

The winter sun has eased away the frost

Softening the ice edge where it turns

Transparent, seeping downwards as it's lost;

The winter sun.

By the sea wall a teenage couple stand.

Their silhouettes hung like a dying ghost

Of the day's heat, shimmers as his hand

Stretches out to touch her unseen face.

They move away towards the pier and

Fade, as falling twilight creeps to encase

The winter sun,

The winter sun flows on across the Downs

Lighting up the beacons as it cuts

From Firle to Lewes, Alfreston to Glynde.

The winter sun

Low in the east is bursting with new fire

To burn and quicken, purge and purify

Releasing dormant earth to rise again.

Each tiny root, each single sleeping grain

Touched in the thawing darkness out of sight

Will at his touch, explode into the light.

The winter sun.

Brian Hick February 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 5.2.26

 1338

After the wind

The rain sets in

Gusting up the channel

Mangling umbrellas

Setting all at odds.

Perhaps

When it has settled

All will be well.

Perhaps.

Brian Hick February 2014

©copyright Sally Hick 28.2.25

 900 

Dover to Canterbury (day two)

A little coaxing from our host

And we are into fruit and toast

Before we sigh and gird

Ourselves for the scrambled eggs and bacon,

Tomatoes and fried bread; all taken

Without dissenting word.

The morning leads through Sibbortswold -

With topiary curious to behold

By the Oak Bakery wall -

Then open fields and open skies

Dry out our boots and clear our eyes

To face the pilgrims' call.

We canter over Barham Downs

But our pilgrim thoughts are drowned

By the constant roar

Of traffic at its noontide peak

And crows are seen with open beak

But we can't hear them caw.

Entering The Red Lion for lunch

We stand out like a surly bunch

Of peddlers on the make

Compared with all the well-dressed crew

Who've just popped in to meet a few

Friends for old time's sake.

The tympanum at Patrixbourne -

Survivor of  the Tudor storm -

Looks down on aged yews

Whose ancestors have stood here since

The Romans came, or Saxon Prince

Stood one among the few.

And so to Canterbury we came

A little tired but all the same

Ready for a cream tea

Then in the silence of the Quire

Give thanks for friendship and the fire

Which burns in you and me.

And were there Larks upon our way?

I saw none, but it's true to say

That sometimes far above

I sensed a call from out the sky,

The rapture of a simple cry

Of undemanding love.

Brian Hick February 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 20.2.23

 900

Dover to Canterbury (day one)

Four of us, and a two day walk

To Canterbury with time to talk

And sup the local beers.

So to Dover on the Ashford train

And, after endless days of rain,

The sun once more appears.

Across the marsh, slight signs of spring

Hide in the hedges, and on the rim

A heron's silent whiteness

Lifts lazily into flight,

A spirit from the passing night

Caught in the morning's brightness.

Up, up onto the Downs

Until the midday sunlight crowns

The tumuli and gilds

Each tree with February's charm.

A raven calls across the calm

Deep furrowed fields

Where rabbits amble unaware

Of fox or hunter, or the care

We're taking as we go

For no one told us of the mud,

Ankle deep where'er we trod,

Making progress slow;

So what should have been an easy day

Was bogged down almost all the way

Till by glum consent

We took the road to Waldenshare -

An eighteenth-century brick affair -

Then tackled the assent

To Coldred for our B&B -

Bourbon biscuits with our tea -

And the welcome showers,

Before we're taxied to the pub,

The Crown at Eythorne, lovely grub;

Then sleep for hours and hours.

 897

February dawn; an owl calls across

The wood, solitary, from the darkened trees

Slumped below the blunt edge of the foss.

February dawn.

Grey haze against the placid blue exceeds

Dulled expectation after weeks of loss

But nothing grows except the insipid weeds

Down runnels or amongst the rotting dross

Of autumn's memory, while summer's seeds

Cling silently below the winter moss,

February dawn.

Brian HIck February 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 8.2.23

 889

Spring is on the way even though

It's sleeting and the temperature's at nought

With winds from the north east threatening snow.

Spring is on the way.

The starlings know; the fox has taught

His cubs to sense the warming sunlight grow

Day by day; a neighbour's cat is caught

Idling on the shed roof, while below

The badgers scratch and make a sleepy effort

To shrug off winter's comfortable glow.

Spring is on the way.

Brian Hick Feb 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 18.1.23