‘A Winter’s Dance’



There I stood, gazing high into the night
Although tinged in grey, clouds painted with yellow ochre.
Waiting with anticipation, excited
For the first one to appear out of this winter light.

Cold air colours my breath, lungs dressed with spice,
With silence gripping all around,
Calmness before this wonderland dance
Moist lips might turn to ice.

Now this dance begins to entertain,
With the wings of angels floating down
Waltzing to and fro, in a crowd
Slowly falling, spinning, twisting, again and again.

This blanket lying before me, quickly woven,
As though made of tufted cotton.
An invitation to jump and play
Children nearby encircled, like a witches’ coven.

Dappled footprints all around,
Walls riddled in pointillist style
Instant sculptures they create
One huge canvas this their ground.

This whitewashed landscape dusted down,
Sudden gust of wind…change of tune.
Now a riot amidst these wings,
This dance now burdened with a frown.

Morning sun now intervenes,
Glistening gems like nature’s treasure.
A gift to us from a winter’s tale,
This beauty, we should appreciate what it means.

Paul Gallagher

Feb. 08