Nat S Ford (natf) wrote,
Nat S Ford

Winter writings

It has been snowing this afternoon/evening and so I am reposting some of my older but relevant writings.


The deafening silence
Of icing sugar snow
Of the cascading white-flake's fall
Causes awe-struck creatures
To hark at the noiseless'
Of not e'en a blackbird's call.

Cars of red tincture
'Come stationary snow-hills
And, moving, cast o'er snow a glare
From ice-bright white headlamps
They pinpoint the paw-prints
Of creatures of night that walked there.

Trees, gaunt and leafless,
Wear white satin ball-gowns _
Their jewel-adorned cold attire.
The small birds and creatures
Lay, cold, in the snow, while
We humans stay warm, by the fire.

And, soon, the snowfall will tire.


All is still _
Except for a boy
Delivering papers.
All is still _
No wind, no sun,
No noise -but, wait!

The tops of the trees
Begin to stir.
The boy decides
To button his coat.

All is not still _
The wind has come
To ravage the town.
All is not still _
To blow gates shut
And signposts down.

The sun begins
To clear the trees,
But it can't shine
Through rain and freeze.

Nothing is still _
The wind has whipped up
Great white snow flakes.
Nothing is still _
Children stir in
Heated bedrooms.

The boy is struggling
Hard to finish.
The wind is trying
Hard to stop him.

All is still _
The world has become
A pastel paint-box.
All is still _
Where once was landscape
Now is snow-scape.

Cars and walls,
Houses, trees _
All are under
This silver blanket _

And, all is still again.


A tree on a windy winter's day

The tree stands on top of the bank, watching the skaters glide below. It wishes it could skate. It calls to the wind to help it and the wind pulls on it's branches. The skaters on the pond hear it's roots grind as it tries to get down onto the ice.

One skater looks up and wonders at the melancholy cause of the noise and sees the tree cry drops of dew onto the heads of the skaters. It cries desperately to the wind to pull harder and, then, with a heart rending crash, the tree falls to the ice.

The skaters scatter and flee to the edge of the pond. One by one, and slowly, they skate back, going around the fallen tree, ignoring it in it's last, dying, agony.


The first snow

She awakes to the brutal sound of the new alarm clock, shrilling in her ear. Her eyes open slowly as she gropes for the button to kill the Christmas present's voice, and she see the unnaturally bright light as the sun shines through the yellow curtains.

It is such a surprise that she draws an involuntarily sharp breath. The trees that were once, although bare, still fairly green, have disappeared. In their place is a slowly undulating infinite sea of white, beginning halfway to the top of the lounge window downstairs.

"Tim, Gerry! Look, it's snowed!"

The patter of feet from the next room reveals that her brother and sister are also now up and, gasping, they too are beholding the sight of the first snow...


If you liked this and would like to encourage me to do this more often, please do donate something (but please do not feel under any obligation to do so!).
Tags: poetry, writing

  • Written when 8 years old

    The little grey hare, (A leveret he's called), Sits all alone in the grasses; So silent he lies there, In the grass oh so tall, So quiet that by the…

  • My tweets

    Thu, 05:24: RT @ mcglk: I'm ridiculously excited about a reboot of B5. Normally, I wouldn't be. I mean, . . . well, as @ straczynski said: too…

  • My tweets

    Sun, 20:00: LOL!

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.