What soft silence here pervades this place,
Even the air seems charged with a gentle grace.
The sun sits low in the wintering sky,
An occasional aircraft passes by.
The sharp angled shards of light drink their fill,
Casting long shadows over tree and hill.
The pristine light penetrates each bower,
Every tree and shrub, every winter flower.
The air hangs soft, fragrant, languid and still,
Winter bumble bees buzz around at will.
How many days of a sharp winter sun,
Will we count in a season that’s just begun.
Softer more gentle than a summers day,
Every detail picked out in X-ray.
A solitary affair this winter sun,
The summers warmth is preferred by some.
Yet days like these are rare things indeed,
To be nurtured like propagated seed.
The weather they say’s an unruly beast,
But provide such days for the soul to feast.
Every emotion and every pleasure,
Can be so charged by the changing weather.
Some things are best enjoyed alone,
Feeding both body and soul, flesh and bone.
But there is little time to stop and stare,
At the many wonders of natures fair.
The modern world has become obsessed,
With a busy life that gives little rest.
The internet, e-mail and mobile phone,
Make quite sure that we are never alone.
But a wondrous winter’s day as this,
Gives to the mind such reverential bliss.
The chattering of the world goes on,
Like some importunate discordant song.
But the wisdom of every moments pause,
Can show us the things that we have to lose.
A world that is so often full of care,
Is much easier if we care to share,
The magic of every passing day,
As we travel each unchartered way.