CHIAROSCURO
Snow, 29/02/04
by Mark Landon
Last Sunday we had snow, and within the hour
All the age-long land lay covered.
Suddenly the sharp sun struck through.
"Come, quick, before it melts," I called to you,
"Let's go walking -"
The road was dark and pulpy as we left,
But the fields rolled out unblemished
Silence far deeper than the snow.
Choosing always the printless path to go,
We kept walking.
We had reached the wind-ripped hillcrest spinney
When they saw us first, clumsy fools
Floundering, nearer joke than threat.
Yet, still, they waited as our gazes met.
We stopped walking.
The universe revolved around three points:
The deer, the watching, and ourselves.
Wordless debate, to go or stay,
Until they broke, meltwater, flowed away,
And we walked on.
Each furrow crystal, each tree dripping slush,
It was not our fault that they ran.
An aeroplane roared overhead,
Left the frozen moment in its wake, dead -
So we walked home.
We transform, not wholly but forever.
Concrete does not dissolve or melt;
Sycamore returns, oak never;
Rats, not deer, will haunt the failed endeavour.
No more walking.
