Snow tango for the goddess!
Snow slips with a swish as the shrouded shrub
scatters its icy Burdon silently upon the frozen ground.
All hail the sun’s return”
Carefully, I place each foot upon the snowy path as I move slowly through the garden. I arrive teetering at the rowan tree. Here, the snow is a treacherous undulating icy swirl, polished by my feet as I have stood twice daily in this spot since the snow first fell. I shift my feet to find a better grip.
On the main road half a mile away, early morning commuter traffic swooshes its way to work. In a tree ahead of me, a magpie clatters, from further along the gardens, another responds and then they syncopate a rival’s duet, punctuated by the chich-chich-chich-chich of a bad tempered robin.
Behind me, great wings flutter vigorously through the snow laden boughs. A rustle, a slipping sliding sound and something falls and is heard no more. All is quiet save the gentle drip-drip-drip of snow melting and falling from leaves rocked by a soft wind.
Wings beat purposefully against harder objects; small rustlings give way to another fall of iced powder. I get a sense that I am surrounded by the watchful silent birds. I wait.
Overhead, the sound of a muffled plane moves slowly as though with difficulty through viscous air. The metal bird connects place to far-flung place. I become aware that I am not alone. Like a necklace of watchers and listeners, others stand and wait. ON hills, in humble back gardens, overlooking the sea, amongst the trees, friends and strangers are waiting with me to welcome in the sun’s return. Our purpose connects us. We are a tribe.
I wait. Slowly, helplessly, another branch releases its icy Burdon. Softly the watching creatures shift as I do, my boots grating loudly on the icy ground. The air lightens and a sharp little wind begins to blow from the east.


“One planet turning,
Circling on her path around the sun,
Mother Earth is calling her children home.
Let’s keep it burning
let’s keep the flame of hope alive
Make safe our journey through the storm.
Light is returning
although it seems the darkest hour
No one can hold back the dawn.”
And behind the clouds hidden by the tall buildings and the trees, I feel the sun move its way into the new day.
There is something about “allowing” I think as I stand in the new day. As the earth turns and the sun rises and the days grow slowly and imperceptibly longer, what is it that I need to allow? Allowing is not submitting, it’s purposefully giving permission for something to change.
“”Aha”” I say, as this message connects with the sulky one who resists everything she has no control over. Slowly I walk through the snow back to the house. My feet sing out as I walk, the sound rising inexorably up the octave and the alphabet as the snow changes from iced powdery through to shining slush and all points in between. The snow sings:
“Prub-prub-preb-preb, dreb-dreb, drib-drib.
Crug-crog-gred-crig, shlop-hslop, shlip-shlip,
Sheeeee.”
Delighted by the song, I move back down the garden, finding the places where the sound changes so I can step and stamp my way through my own private dance
prub-dreb, prib-drib”, “crib-shlop, and “shlip-sheee!”. I am lost in my feet and the snow as I stamp out a tango for the goddess.
Oh but now my toes are frozen! It is time to stop, reluctantly I remember who and where I am. I execute some fancy steps, slip, swivel round and then right myself again. Was that a snort of mirth I heard, I wonder as I climb back into my kitchen to contemplate my personal ambrosia, porridge and peanut butter!