The snow fell that Saturday morning
As if a million cushions had been
burst above
And I felt nostalgic for another time
As I was taken back to my childhood
I watched Apollo 8 go round the Moon,
while the snow fell outside,
as huge delicate flakes
turning the grass in the garden white
as if by magic.
I first footed at New Year,
shivering on the doorstep in
pyjamas and dressing gown in the snow.
I woke up in the forbidden night
and saw the snow tumbling down
in the light from a downstairs window
I carefully scraped the ice off
the inside of the bedroom window.
The caravan at Melmerby
was blown over by the Helm Wind,
surging down from an unforgiving Cross Fell
while a blizzard raged in Newcastle.
I was towed to school on a sledge
and I would look north to see
if the snow was coming again
I read of the snow coming in a Box of Delights
as the snow piled up outside the window
I saw the hail landing on the wet driveway
Making a perfect foundation
for the snow that was to come.
I learnt the colour of snow clouds
like pastry in the cold sky
I remember the Sunday afternoon blizzard
with the thunder snow and posting a letter,
coming back looking like a small snowman
And if I could tell a child
in 2050 about my childhood winters,
would they believe a word I say?
Or would they think it was all just a myth
like King Arthur and the Loch Ness monster?
Peter Sagar
