To behold the hills and gelid lakes

Bejewelled in winter pearls

Every field and wholesome berry

Adorned beneath an icy veil

 

To watch the trees disport themselves

Stretched out like swans in allongé  

Disrobed and unabashed

Lost in the face of the crystal moon

 

To catch the scent

Of the chiselled air and watch

As tumbling stars are formed

Is this the moment where I am born?

 

The world seems as new as a babe’s 

First breath

But perhaps it’s me who breathes anew

Whilst drinking in the break of dawn

 

The Sky’s betrothal to the land

Laid out by the artist’s sleight of hand

Strikes a chord within my mind

For far too long, I have been blind. 

Clare Kinnaird, 2024.