Phineas Cricket

Was I fourteen walking
with my father that Christmas
Day, I must have been
wearing that fluffy and
in retrospect flamboyant
plaid wool jacket, the cold
stinging my face, our feet crunching
an inch of rare Surrey snow

the sun risen over red-tiled roofs
and trees having given their last
leaves raking the sky a deeper blue
remember how the snow quiets
everything and stills all roads
but this one path we walk u Read more of this blog post »