1270
And still it snows, with no end in sight;
Day after day, wind battered, in despair
Of the Spring's return or the sun's light.
And still it snows.
A robin challenges the morning air
Telling me, of course, that he is right,
All will be well and I should not care
Just because it's cold and that it might
Linger on until late May or more
Before we see the end of this dark night.
And still it snows.
Brian Hick spring 2013
©copyright Sally Hick 10.5.25
1240
There's snow in the air and ice upon the rut;
Skeletal forms, unmoving and unmoved,
Stark reminders of Death's scything cut.
There's snow in the air.
Grey the street and grey the sky, amazed
By silence after all the Christmas glut
Of ice-rink carols and town centres' paved
With wooden huts, bratwurst, the gentle phut
Of hand-cranked roundabouts; all now passed
Dark as ashes from the Yule - but
There's snow in the air.
Brian Hick January 2013
©copyright Sally Hick 15.1.25
1113
Late evening snow has blanketed the land
Turning all that is to wedding cake,
Broken only by the shards which stand
Crystaled near the edges of the lake
Where she dances, innocent, as though
This virgin world were fashioned just for her
And its fragile unity, aglow
With promise, waits till we concur,
Joining the figures that she traces here
Across the Downs and out above the Sea
To link earth and water, fire and air,
In one eternal round of harmony.
Brian Hick February 2012
©copyright Sally Hick 6.2.24
1078
I don't like snow - I suppose that I don't mind
The stuff on Christmas cards or on TV
But not the real wet and chilly kind.
I don't like snow.
There was a time when I'd happily be
Out hiking in a blizzard, where the wind
Whipped round my ears and I could hardly see
Because of ice on eyelids; but refined
By age and custom, I prefer the sea
In summer, downland springs and autumn's vines.
I don't like snow.
Brian Hick December 2011
©Sally Hick 2.1.24
875
The quiet snow has stopped the headlong rush
To empty all the shops of Christmas cheer;
The roads are silent, as my fingers brush
The quiet snow.
Grey skies massing out beyond the pier
Herald change, but near me the hush
Of snow on snow hangs about my ear
Like pearls on silk, until the distant slush
Of noise intrudes, willing me to clear
My mind of transient joys each time I touch
The quiet snow.
Brian Hick Nov 2010
©copyright Sally Hick November 2022
861
November Snow Fall (2010)
Ten inches fell last night and more to come they say
(And how I warm to keeping it in inches, by the way)
So no more school for us this week, its out into the hills
On plastic bags and old tea trays to squeel away the thrills
Of unexpected moments, stolen from the working week
And oh the joys of silence as the drivers cannot reap
Vengeance every waking minute with scowls and obscene words,
Now all we hear are children, dogs and ever chirping birds.
By afternoon we venture out to search for some fresh bread
Only to find they're all sold out and Sam looks almost dead
On his feet with all the rush to bake a triple set
As Asda, Tesco and the Coop have all run out and yet
They all bake on the premises, a likely tale, when Sam
Has flour enough for more doughnuts, with or without the jam.
But I digress, the sun is slipping gently in the west
So it must be time to settle down for dinner, and the best
Shiraz brought from M&S and a home-made creme brulee
Before a repeat of Mock the Week on Dave to round off the day.
Brian Hick November 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 9.12.22
859
The snow makes all things one in this grey light
Softening the edges of the trees
Into a hush of permanent delight;
The snow makes all things one.
Over the hedgerows and across the leas
Shadows hint at shapes beneath the bright
Expanse of winter; a robin calls to tease
The silence, warming with his song the sight
Which ravishes my senses as it frees
My soul to know that everything is right.
The snow makes all things one.
Brian Hick November 2010
©copyright Sally Hick 6.12.22
I thought I knew these views
But they've become
Rarefied by snow which hides away
All subtleties of colour
Flattering all shapes
To children's sketches.
Sheep, so much a part of any field,
Stand starkly silhouetted in the cold;
A solitary rabbit on the hill
Leaps for cover
A giant flea across a king-size quilt.
Only the movement of the train
Gives any sense of life,
Each station halt refracted to a
Picturesque deployment of itself.
Architectural features soften
In the lurking snow which clings
Like summer weeds
To every ledge.
Occasional bright colours break the trance
Of endless monochrome
But for now
The world is black and white.
Brian Hick January 2010
©copyright S Hick January 2022
Too much snow?
Surely, even global warming goes
Too far if it thinks our temperate fields
Could suffer more than two days of such snows
Before it melts them off to feed the streams
Which plump our Southern Downs and quiet meadows?
Yet her it is - still lying on the ground
And not a hint of thawing out today;
If anything, there's more of it around
With promises of blizzards on the way.
But walking into town down to the sea
Where dull grey waves offset the dazzling beach
My irritation, flake by flake, was eased
And all things seemed to be within my reach,
Brian Hick January 2010
©copyright S Hick January 2022
