Winter worry

I was worried that Winter wouldn’t be 
as beautiful as the other seasons 
But I went to the woods
and found that it was

I’d forgotten how the December sun has more room to shine 
With most of the trees having taken off their leafy coats

I was worried that there’d be no colour
I’d even forgotten that the grass stays green 
and that ivy climbs and clings to the naked trees 
I’d forgotten how the brambles sprawl and spread over the ground, 
a few leaves stained mulled-wine burgundy,
and that bright berries dress the plump prickly hollies 

I’d forgotten that there’d still be October leaves on the ground, 
less gold and scarlet now, more yellow and brown, 
like a 1970’s pub carpet, 
it’s pattern blurred by one too many 
in a Sunday lock-in.

I’d forgotten that the sky on the best winter days
seems bigger than before
The blue more imposing without competition 
from yellow gorse or pink blossom

I’d forgotten that squirrels scurry round for all to see, 
deprived of their usual hiding places
And how puddles shine and shimmer
on the muddy paths like oddly-shaped mirrors.

I must try to remember not to worry next year. 

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