Is it winter?

There was a time when winters here were cold
When snow and ice bit deep into the bone
And frosted windows met us, rising, every morn
When icy pavements meant we slipped and slid along.
There was a time when summers were so warm
The sun shone bright between the clouds
And heat rose humid from the fields,
Bright with wildflowers, buzzing insects
And the heady scents of earth and farm.
But then came now, and now it should be winter
But the February temperature tells me no,
For I feel the heat rise across both town and country
See a clear blue unremitting glare upon the water
And the butterflies awake and flit and start
But it is winter or is winter summer now?
For this thing called climate change has confused us all.

Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

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Daily Prompt: The Swallow

Little bird, swift bird,

Migrating on the wing

Swooping in from southern climes

Our  harbinger of  Spring

 

Zooming ‘cross  the pastures

While feeding in flight

Scooping up some insects

Then banking to get height.

 

Gathering up mud pellets

For nesting o’er the door

Feathering the inside

Laying white eggs; maybe four.

 

 

They are raising a brood

See the droppings on the floor

Sweeping in and swiftly feeding

Then back again with more.

 

And then the brood are ready

Tentatively they take flight

Til they too are flying

And we all take delight.

 

Scudding ‘cross the fields

And diving from aloft

Soaring to great heights

And through the clouds so soft.

 

But as Autumn approaches,

And evenings gather in

You’ll find them all chirping

From the wires such a din.

 

A flapping and a chatting

About the journey ahead

Taking the late sun’s rays

Upon their shiny heads

 

And then they take flight

Ascending in the air

To go thousands of miles

On a wing and a prayer.

 

Bon voyage little bird

By the sun you can steer

Travel safe if you can,

Hope to see you next year.

 

Poem and photo copyright Englepip©

 

via Daily Prompt: Swallow

Daily Prompt: Snow definition – a dog’s perspective

When a familiar landscape becomes a foreign field

Populated with overlarge, cold, white hominoids

Of terrifying proportions;  when missiles

Equally white, fly through the air – war of the juveniles

Descending slopes on their terrible toboggans

Squealing war cries of joy, fear and warning;

Alien world of crusty icing sugaredness

Powdery beneath the paws and scents and trails

Vanished beneath  a cloak of icy invisibility.

Beautiful covering coming silently from the sky

Like white stars and hexagonal doilies.

Lickable and likeable in tongue meltingness.

 

Words and photo copyright to Englepip©

via Daily Prompt: Foreign

Cloaked in darkness

We drew up the boats at the water’s edge as the sun plummeted towards the horizon. Just in time for a campfire; and facing west, a chance to watch the setting sun turn the whole of the western reaches burnt orange and golden. Drink in hand, we watched in awe as darkness descended and a chill grew across the water.  Listening intently as the noises of the day dropped one by one, the intensity of the night-time sounds grew greater; grunts and barks of wildlife echoed and there was the occasional screeching of a female tawny owl. And then we heard it, the plop and plunge of paddles slicing the calm waters as two canoes swished past, rippling through the water in the dying light; making their way homeward, secretively, cloaked of darkness.

Photo copyright Englepip ©

via Daily Prompt: Cloaked

Autumn

Photographic images by Englepip Copyright ©

At first the Autumn creeps almost unseen

As leaves become duller, a little less green

Then suddenly out of the sky come the winds

First breezy, then blowy and then in a spin

That whirls and screeches and roars through the night

Bringing rain pellets from a huge height

‘Til, like stones, they drop on the waning flowers

And tumble the blossoms down with their might.

 

But the sun comes out and all is fair

Yet there’s a new coolness in the air.

Next the leaves change to a beautiful hue

Traffic light colours in the park to view

The squirrels run jumping canopy high

Gathering nuts – they know winter is nigh,

While down on the ground the hedgehogs are seeking

A  sheltered bed for their long, winter sleeping.

 

And then we awake to the first full frost

The puddles are glassy, the flowers are lost.

 

And overnight the trees are made bare

The ground like a stone  and the daylight has gone

The temperature plummets to minus figures

And  the full force of Arctic winds is bitter

For Autumn has ended, and winter has hit us.