I don't know why I should be thinking about snow on such a glorious summer afternoon. Perhaps it's something to do with a conversation I had at sewing class last night about planning some Christmas present projects... I know, I know, it's only August, but I'm serious about having a home-made Christmas this year and it will only happen if I give myself plenty of time to get organised.
Anyhow, I think it must have been the inspiration behind this little poem I penned this afternoon.
* * *
Outside the window, high winds send snow
whirling around the woodshed at the garden's end.
I conjure you slowly from the air,
the tread of your gumboots crunching
through the silence, until you emerge sky-high
with snow caked in your heavy sheepskin coat.
I tap the small pink pads of my fingertips
against the glass, gently; so that Mother doesn't hear.
We wave as though you've only been gone a day,
before you leave your grief, my gift,
unwrapped and heavy on the doorstep
as I swallow down the words to thank you with.