‘…under the cloak of winter lies a miracle’ Barbara Winkler

Beneath elegant beech trees,
pause at pillows of moss
until a coracle’s in view.

Not yet in the water,
the boat is waiting.

Step in
and settle
on striped animal hide.

Mist wraps and rises,
all else is still.

Peace falls.

No swallows, no lilies, no damselflies.
Nothing moves.

Silence stirs
and the fagus listen to a promise
heightening in the haze.

Under the cloak of winter
changes occur;
drift with the current.

You will row again,
energy restored,
as the season shifts.

Polly Stretton © 2020