Am I glad to bump into you.
Your cold caresses make me feel so loved.
Snug and warm.
A wanting that exuberant summers do not satiate.
Nor do the falls of autumn.
May be because I am a hill girl.
And wherever you take me, you cannot take that away from me.
The smoky evenings, the air laden with earthy aroma of burning coal,
The hushed eventide arriving swiftly and urgently with sunset,
The freezing water
And amidst it all,
To herald summers with vigour and spirit.
It is time for me to be home.
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Dear winter scramblings