Snowstory

Snowstory (3rd February, 2009, 10.49am)

Graceless, not a vision in white,
clad in suitably unsexy clothes,
I skid, slip, splay across the snow
like Bambi, minus the cute element.

Landing just inches clear of the dog,
I examine my rapidly bruising arse
in front of all the neighbours; he barks,
straining at his lead, unsympathetic.

This is pathetic. I scrabble for a
purchase on the compacted track,
only to end up, more completely,
on my back. The neighbours laugh,

then help me up. Nursing my pride,
elegance non-personified, I limp to
the field, yield the hound to freedom,
crunch happily over covered grass.

Later, over a warming glass of wine
with supper at a friend’s, my rear end
still throbbing, I recount my sorry tale;
the dog wags his tail, hearing his name.

On our way home, the world is strangely
light; night enhanced by reflection from
the snow; the boat lies, cloaked and snug
beneath her new coat. The flakes float.

Jennifer Pickup