the fog condenses
the young of the fairy folk
ice shards suspended
We were playing football, tiny shards of ice just sat drifting in the air, it was most bizarre. I think the fog was freezing. It was beautiful when you looked through the cloud of these crystals towards the flood lights.
that autumn harvest
of sloes plucked and pricked after
the first biting frost
slung and barrel sloshed
slow weeping their heady tears
in sugary gin
with the fire spreading
around the blood, red faced smiles
a rain repellent!
A little tribute to Sloe Gin. We met up with friends for a festive catch up. Our friend Neil had a glass of a Spanish version of Sloe Gin in our favourite Clerkenwell restaurant Medcalf. I had a dessert wine but should have got that too! It was slightly aniseed-ish, but not overpowering like a pastis or ouzo. Was a lovely subtle drink. So warming on a winter’s evening. Debbie made some Sloe gin at home, we still have some left. The process of collecting and making it, from the astringent sloe berries, mixed in a sugar and gin solution. Sloshing it around every once in a while. In a few short months, it is ready. Delicious.
When we left Medcalf, the rain was battering down. After that sort of drink though, there is a force field of red faced warmth, burning the rain before it hits you!
crimson and luscious
thrushes feast on yew berries
burst on the frosted
brittle leaf litter
the ice queen’s breath builds pretty
crystals on the oak
We went to Wrest Park, it was cold and icy, but quiet and serene. Inside the walled gardens, a warm haven in the sun. My photos below (all photos © Mel Melis)
The goddess Iris (below)
Pretty ice crystals on the oak leaf.
the glitter of frost
smothers the morning hurry
secret warmth returns
When it’s just above freezing, but the sun makes you feel warm? That!
the first frost melted
in the rising cocksure sun
whilst I slumbered on
a cherub asleep
in the blackout sanctity
of my feather bed
Frost at the fringes
promised return, patient days
waits in rain and dew
There’s a discernable drop in temperature!
The frost melts to dew
timid birds find their voices
in the burning dawn
We went for a dawn walk today, we saw the sun rise and heard the birds sing. A Willow Warbler warbled in a willow (really). We didn’t see any otters. The river flit is on the edge of their travelling range. Would be lovely to see one.
Pic I took of Flitton Church and the sun rising behind it.
Ice miracle, dawn,
Splintered light, diamonds scattered,
Mist cowled serpent coiled.
I drove to Hertford this morning, was babysitting for my two young nephews. The sights along the way were breathtaking. Because it had been so cold and dry overnight (the air temperature was –12C when I was driving around 9am) it meant a rare phenomenon occurred. A hoarfrost. Where the moisture in the air freezes on trees and plantlife, leaving it looking like something out of Narnia. Completely white and glittering like jewels. It truly felt like a magical kingdom I had no right to witness. I’d woken up to a new world.
Pegsdon Hills looked magnificent and beautiful. I imagined an old ice serpent, an ancient dragon, stirred from a long slumber, who in its waking had frozen the land hard but left it staggeringly beautiful in its harshness.
I didn’t have my camera, I would have stopped and snapped at the sky, at the rolling mist, at the crazy light refracting through the ice everywhere so you couldn’t tell where the sun was in the sky. It was magical, some days make you truly appreciate being alive.
Five snipers huddled,
In the arms of the old oak,
Crystalline in frost.
Looked out of our back window today and saw a Hitchcock like scene. Five magpies had settled together in the old oak tree opposite. They were freezing poor things, trying to conserve energy, unmoving, which gave them an air of hatching some sinister plot.
Five for silver though right? Lottery ticket time :)
