A Wintertime Walk
by Annie Jenkin

Walking on this winterís day,
each stride I take is captured,
by a crisp, crunch sound
and my tracks are etched,
crossing over the park,
in flattened frosted grass.

I breathe out, watching
as the air is drawn away
into the cobwebs of mist.
Passing a terrace of houses,
I see chimneys are scribbling
messages over roof tops.

Paying my fare, the ferry chugs
across the tranquil river.
Mist rises from the surface
in whispers, only the wind hears,
perhaps, lamenting the greyness
the low tide has left behind.

By the sheltered river bank
a heron stands poised,
as if it has somehow
managed to slip through
the fingers of time,
paused in morning thoughts.

At last, a rim of sunshine
brushes tree tops, its light
seeps through branches
that hang down, as if relieved
to be released from the grip
of this harsh winter's day.

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