WINTER RIDE

In thundering ordered harmony we ride, While wild birds swoop and dip and glide beside,

Like us they follow their brave, courageous leader,

As past frozen fields we echo their aweinspiring motion.

Facing the north wind’s fearsome blast, Heavy leathers fend off the icy winter’s wrath,

Fixed stare, straight lines is our measured symmetry,

Robust and daring winged fluidity.

The quietness of snow brushed landscape; perfect tranquility,

A held breath; moment out of time; it looks so still,

Shining land of ancient battles, hedgerows and serenity, Quintessence of England; we pass the dredger with his shovel.

We see the sparkling water of the sunlit dappled stream,

Feel the wind that shakes the clouds and makes the hawthorn shiver,

A weary horse pulling a heavy barge gently neighs and pauses,

All of us caught in a moving frame of time together.

Our colours catch the morning light so radiant and beautiful,

Simple rural scenes transformed to something rich and strange,

Feel contentment deep within and welling waves of gratitude, To experience such connection in the bliss of sacred solitude.

MARK PINCHIN