Winter Sweeps Out

I awoke early, the sky was just turning grey and the thermometer was reading below freezing. By the time the tea had brewed there was a crimson line along horizon. I took my mug and headed down to the back door. I pulled on my old boots and took the red checkered jacket off the hook.

The winter had been long and cold. Round here they mix sand with the road salt. A lot of sand. The floor of the garage crunched underfoot as I lifted the reluctant-to-open overhead door. It was lighter outside now and a few of the houses across the valley seemed to be stirring, a solitary chimney sent a blue smoke trail into the air.

I grabbed the yard brush, its worn handle felt snug against the callouses on my hand. By the time I finished sweeping out the garage the sky was blue and the brass thermometer had inched past the freezing mark. I drained the tea mug, leant the broom against the door frame and listened. So quiet through the winter, the woods that lined the valley, were waking up. The calls of a distant wood pigeon were mixed with the enquiring whistle of the Robin and the piercing call of a thrush. And there, across the woods, was the unmistakable creaking rattle-taps of a woodpecker.

There will probably be a few more nights below freezing, maybe even another inch or two of snow. But the birds know it’s time. The deer that past through one evening last week, they know it’s time. The tulips and the daffodils know it too - it’s been a long cold one this year but winter is clearly leaving even if a but unwillingly.


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Bazza