Afternoon is deep in winter

Afternoon is deep in winter

        only the day cannot decide

        how cold.

        Between greys

        knife and elbows of the wind.

        Across the road an old woman

        in a yellow towelling cap

        and orange boots

        wrapped

        in green home-knitted wool

        from neck to knee

        prunes her roses again.

        A ritual of permanence

        that goes as deep as their roots,

        her secateurs

        small dark wings

        amongst the bee-hook sting

        of thorns.

These poems are from my new collection IN THE APRICOT DARKNESS (view the cover and contents below in my recent posts). They are now being published individually, daily under 'recent posts' on my blog and will be available shortly as an eBook that can be read online or downloaded for free.