And so the winter comes

on small wet feet

smelling of woodfires and wet dogs

cardigans and dripping trees

it drapes itself over the clothes

on lines which won’t dry till Spring

it announces itself in freezing

fingers and toes losing touch

with arms and legs

it breathes out ambiguous clouds

from puffing cheeks

and red noses

in icy sheets and white tiled bathrooms

on the grassy verge

it sprinkles a trick coconut topping

but it isn’t winter yet

though a paler sun is here.