Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Midwinter Waking
Paws there. Snout there too as well.
Mustiness. Mould. Darkness; a desire to stretch, to scratch.
Then has the-?
Then is it-?
Nudge the thatch, Displace the stiffened leaves: look out.
How cold, How dried a stillness. Like a blade on stone,
A wind is scraping, first this way, then that. Morning, perhaps, but not a proper one.
Turn.
Sleep will unshell us, but not yet.
Midwinter Waking, Phillip Larkin
...Yup - that about sums it up!!