Hints Of Winter Remain

   Cold Morning In The Fens


   Cold sleet from the north washes over the dark eastern soil this morning, sleet that kisses your face with freezing cold touch and stings your forehead like a thousand angel pinches. The cold of winter's end rides every droplet of ice, that cold chill that tightens your skin before working it's way to your bones.
   On a day when the fens look so grey like the world as lost it's colour, my flame will flicker on again after burning late last evening, more magical tricks it will show, keeping my mind warm even if body cold.
   My little black fire dragon is again alive and crackles and spits as he warms the barn, his timber fare stacked awaiting his greed and flat bottom kettle resting on his shoulders.
   So close was spring that you could feel the warm mornings travelling our way but now that reminder of winter's tail, those weeks when fingers once again feel cold and stiff, when nose and cheeks belong to another colder you and breath sends words into the cold air riding warm steam until they fade into the past.
   Once again a day of glass calls and I head off to play and learn, to carry onward on my journey, travelling those lanes I love where lessons hide behind every tree and new challenges await around every bend, where I past old friends who were forgotten and say hello once more, old friends I made in my flame in winters past  when colours were new and days so different to those I now live.