One must have a mind of winter
To regard the frost and the boughs
Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;
And have been cold a long time...
as Wallace Stevens put it (The Snow Man). I'm the kind of wimp that if in doubt wears several vests, and is properly respectful about having no power for days on end - but today I know I'm missing out on experiencing south-west Scotland's heaviest snowfall in decades, and there's a sting in that.
So this blog post is a wallow in the white stuff, with poetry to sharpen the experience denied to me in actuality.
Here's a beautiful photo of a small child (dressed in red!) absorbing the world made new near Dalbeattie.
Look at winter
With winter eyes...
And here the beach under snow at Portpatrick, on the Rhinns in Galloway. It's about as far west as you can go, a soft coast of Atlantic air and Gulf Stream warmth. Just south of here is Logan Botanic Garden, where the palm trees must be bent with snow this afternoon.
of some unimaginable bird
that loves us,
that is asleep now, and silent—
that has turned itself
Mary Oliver from 'White-Eyes'
And here is a lane near Tinwald, in Dumfriesshire. Snow re-writes.
The snow whirls over the courtyard's roses.
Didn't bring my boots and scarf, leafing
through books, don't know what to do with all this light!
Tua Forsström (Poem of the Week in the Guardian recently)