Broken, hurried clouds
In paling Northern sky
Sun crash through tattered holes
At Imbolc grey awakening

Wind whistle strives among the grass
Stalk tugging, bough bending
Black rook headlong into wind
Flap and dive to hedgerow shelter

Rain spatter cold on pinched face
Hands thrust deep in pockets
Mud caked on heavy feet
A thick coat denies the chill

And to rest in early dark
At hearth-fire golden light
Wind unabated at chimney pot
Draws smoke on journey upward