Cocooned

The ski lifts closed on Friday,
chairlifts stilled, empty Ls
hanging in a frozen march above
tracks made by returning wolves.
Snow falling, swirling, drifting gently
to settle on the blue run to Chez Simon,
stopping point for coffee, apple tart,
a wood burning stove.

Here, I long for the release of rain.
The cold drought and bright skies
feel wrong. Heavy clouds banked
along rooftops at the back of our house
at dawn, a hint of sun lightening the sky.


© Alison Hackett, April 2020