Another Winter Day

Small, puffy-white and moving
swiftly at the wind's urgent
demand against the oceanic
blue sky, like infants awaiting
maturity into fully-fledged
clouds whose presence obscures
the sun, they drift lazily above
the forest like browsing sheep.

The needle-sharp atmosphere of
a mean-spirited winter day rouses
itself to defeat the wan warmth of
the sun's rays sending spurts of
light through leafless branches.
Crystals of ice overnight crusted
the forest stream; beneath the icy
glaze, the stream flows, bubbling.

That colourful brace of dabbling
ducks has finally left the misery
of that inhospitable landscape. The
drake's incandescent green cap no
longer bobs serenely along the
silent stream, nor do his mate's
paddling feet churn flotsam now.

Suddenly the apprentice clouds
become masters of their element;
stridently large and grey, confidently
shielding the sun from display and
what had been illuminated is now
dim, the forest settling grimly into
acceptance of another winter day.