Spring in the High Peak

The raggle taggle skeins of snow rimmed the hills and huddled forlornly in the shady corners of the winter-weary fields.

Tucked into threadbare hedgerows, glistening crystals prismed the shafts of pale sunlight scything through the battleship-grey cloud-shards ragged by the bitter wind of the North, and beamed jewels of hope to the porcelain-blue sky peering hesitantly at the battle-torn land.

Land, battle-worn, but safe in the knowledge it would never surrender, as, already the secret army is mustered against the foes: wind, rain, dark, cold, snow.

All hail, shy snowdrop and woodland anemone

Vieing with orchids to coat the drab earth,

Jasmine, sarcoccus and white blackthorn budding,

No Winter shall conquer nor lessen your worth.