Short days, wild winds, stormy seas. The glory of winter darkness hibernation, wrapping ourselves in cosy woollens, swaddling our spirits in the gestation time, quietening our minds, listening with stillness to the sounds of nature.
Here we are in the deep mid-Winter with arrows pointing back to Autumn and forwards to Spring in the eternal rhythm of the seasons.
The excerpts here show among the birds eggs and forest shadows a feature on Inner Wild in Belle Armoire magazine and below the Inner Wild Snowfall on Skin Bodice.
A little poem moment for you, Walter on Winter:
Winter
by Walter de la Mare
Green Mistletoe! Oh, I remember now A dell of snow, Frost on the bough; None there but I: Snow, snow, and a wintry sky.
None there but I, And footprints one by one, Zigzaggedly, Where I had run; Where shrill and powdery A robin sat in the tree.
And he whistled sweet; And I in the crusted snow With snow-clubbed feet Jigged to and fro, Till, from the day, The rose-light ebbed away.
And the robin flew Into the air, the air, The white mist through; And small and rare The night-frost fell In the calm and misty dell.
And the dusk gathered low, And the silver moon and stars On the frozen snow Drew taper bars, Kindled winking fires In the hooded briers.
And the sprawling Bear Growled deep in the sky; And Orion’s hair Streamed sparkling by: But the North sighed low, “Snow, snow, more snow!”
. . . and if you are still feeling the Walter, and Winter, here is a rare delight found on youtube of the man himself reading his poem “Snowing”:
A hydrangea cutting from last year decided to make Spring even more exciting by creating its first ever flower when nothing else bloomed in the garden. Brought indoors its single blossom came to be appreciated and admired all day long for weeks and weeks. Thanks to its beautiful influence this Spring I was drawn to …
All is on the wane here; the long grass falls dry and soft yellow, sunlight is dimmed in the morning, the wind is colder. At the same time the bramble berries are bursting with plump ripeness and the Rowan berries shine red in the twilight as crows squawk in delight at them. We fall into …
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes. Ah. The cooling wind makes the machair flowers dance in pretty pinks and bright yellow. Bumble bees buzz the red clover. Moths visit at night, painted ladies flutter from flower to flower drinking nectar their butterfly wings move like Geisha fans.
Winter: potent hibernation
Short days, wild winds, stormy seas. The glory of winter darkness hibernation, wrapping ourselves in cosy woollens, swaddling our spirits in the gestation time, quietening our minds, listening with stillness to the sounds of nature.
Here we are in the deep mid-Winter with arrows pointing back to Autumn and forwards to Spring in the eternal rhythm of the seasons.
Yes, we are wallowing in winter on our Inner Wild Winterdark pinterest board.
The excerpts here show among the birds eggs and forest shadows a feature on Inner Wild in Belle Armoire magazine and below the Inner Wild Snowfall on Skin Bodice.
A little poem moment for you, Walter on Winter:
Winter
by Walter de la Mare
Green Mistletoe!
Oh, I remember now
A dell of snow,
Frost on the bough;
None there but I:
Snow, snow, and a wintry sky.
None there but I,
And footprints one by one,
Zigzaggedly,
Where I had run;
Where shrill and powdery
A robin sat in the tree.
And he whistled sweet;
And I in the crusted snow
With snow-clubbed feet
Jigged to and fro,
Till, from the day,
The rose-light ebbed away.
And the robin flew
Into the air, the air,
The white mist through;
And small and rare
The night-frost fell
In the calm and misty dell.
And the dusk gathered low,
And the silver moon and stars
On the frozen snow
Drew taper bars,
Kindled winking fires
In the hooded briers.
And the sprawling Bear
Growled deep in the sky;
And Orion’s hair
Streamed sparkling by:
But the North sighed low,
“Snow, snow, more snow!”
. . . and if you are still feeling the Walter, and Winter, here is a rare delight found on youtube of the man himself reading his poem “Snowing”:
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All is on the wane here; the long grass falls dry and soft yellow, sunlight is dimmed in the morning, the wind is colder. At the same time the bramble berries are bursting with plump ripeness and the Rowan berries shine red in the twilight as crows squawk in delight at them. We fall into …
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