In the Wood
Cold winter`s in the wood,
I saw him pass
Crinkling up fallen leaves
Along the grass.
Bleak winter`s in the wood,
The birds have flown
Leaving the naked trees
King Winter`s in the wood,
I saw him go
Crowned with a coronet
Of crystal snow.
By Eileen Mathias
Out on the woodland edge, at the foot of Stonechat Hill, trees changed to silver and white, after a night of snow.
Old Jenny`s tree, with wilding apples rosy red against the snow.
Up the lane, where once the stage coach heading for the London Road would go.
A solitary pony stands stock-still .......
...beneath the hill where gorse and silver birches grow.
An ash tree with snow covered keys.......
....and a weeping silver birch leans towards the ground.
The pony with a bumpy nose is often on her own. Maybe kicked as a foal, she has a bony lump which shows in her profile. On this snowy morning she was pleased to wander over for some company. Her neck beneath her mane felt warm, but icicles hung from ears, hair and eyelashes after a long night in the bitter cold.
I walked up into the gorse. She followed me and found some shelter in the deep natural `stables` that the dense bushes provide, watching me down the hill as I headed out for home.